


Metamorphosis

by KtwoNtwo



Series: The Government Pack [1]
Category: Alpha and Omega - Patricia Briggs, James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Mission Fic, Post-Skyfall, Q is a Holmes, Slow Build, werewolf!Q, werewolf!bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 101,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2668106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KtwoNtwo/pseuds/KtwoNtwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Other duties as assigned” takes on a whole new meaning when James Bond returns from a mission and finds himself juggling his 00 status, preternatural politics and having to act as pack leader to a newly created werewolf.</p>
<p>A Bondlock crossover using Patricia Briggs’ style (Alpha & Omega/Mercy Thompson) werewolves.  (Please note: NOT an A/B/O universe)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homecoming

Despite the amount of times he spent on them, James Bond did not care for commercial airplanes. Even though he most often flew first class these days there was something about cramming a substantial number of humans into a small metal canister that set his hackles up. Intellectually he knew that it was most likely related to the overload of sensation that he was required to deal with whenever he set foot on a plane. The outside to recirculated air ratio, even at the normal fifty percent, meant that airplanes smelled like a crowd of people regardless of where in the plane he was seated. The engine noise was another irritation. Most jet engines had a high pitch overtone that was annoying at best and grating at worst. Especially annoying was when multiple engines happened to have just different enough overtones to create dissonance. Of course the food quality and quantity left a lot to be desired not to mention the fact that there was simply no way to get comfortable in an airline seat even if one wanted to do so. The things James had learned to put up with in the name of service to Queen and Country.

As he walked through the terminal James felt himself relaxing. Well relaxing as much as a 00 agent ever did in a public place. He never really dropped his vigilance until he was in his own flat, had double checked the security and was sipping some good scotch. Still, the smell and sights of Heathrow tended to relieve some of the tensions of 12 hours of travel. It was even better that mission had been a resounding success he was uninjured and wonder of wonders, all his equipment was intact. The boffins in Q branch would be ecstatic and Q himself would be flabbergasted. He strolled out past security only to have all the tension suddenly returned in a rush of adrenaline. Eve Moneypenny was standing in the foyer waiting for him.  He looked at her carefully as he approached for clues. How was she going to want to play this?

“Bond,” she greeted him as he strolled up. Her body language and tone of voice said co-worker. He could work with that.

“Moneypenny, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m truly sorry James,” she replied, “but we have a situation at the office and himself wants you to apply your unique talents to the situation.” She fell into step beside him.

So M wanted him back at HQ ASAP. It must be serious. “It couldn’t have waited until after I’ve slept?”

“No, he was quite insistent,” she replied.

Bond sighed. Anyone who had observed the exchange would hopefully conclude that James had an unreasonable boss who was yanking his chain by hauling him directly to the office after a business trip rather than letting him go home and sleep off the jet lag.

“Faster we get this over with, the faster I can get some sleep,” he said for the benefit of any would be listeners as they reached the curb.

One of the MI6 armored behemoth sedans pulled up. He opened the door for Moneypenny and then slid into the car after her. The driver smoothly integrated the car into traffic and they were underway.

They rode a while in silence, James mulling over what Eve had said and not said. Mallory needed his particular talents. Which ones he wondered. The ability to kill that gave him the 00 status? His prowess as an agent? No, neither of those would qualify as _unique_. No what was unique was that James Bond was a werewolf. In fact he was the only werewolf currently in the ranks of MI6. Therefore, something was up that had a preternatural component and couldn’t be handled adequately with the tools and personnel currently available.

Once he had come to that conclusion James took a good look and more importantly a good sniff of Moneypenny. She was tired. He could see it in her bearing and smell it in her scent. She had also been upset recently. She was keeping a stiff upper lip currently and would continue to do so as long as necessary but he suspected that she’d fall apart for at least a little bit as soon as the immediate crisis had abated. She also seemed edgy as if she kept expecting very bad news at any moment.

Her dress was impeccable but she hadn’t showered. Her hair style was simpler than he’d seen in a while and she was wearing minimal make-up. If he remembered correctly it was from the emergency stash she kept in her desk. Given those clues it was clear to him that whatever it was had happened early this morning. It had caused her to be roused from her bed with barely enough time to get dressed before coming into the office.

“So,” he started to see if he could get some idea about the situation only to have her shake her head minutely at him. Obediently he changed course conversationally. “Did the package I retrieved prove useful?”

“Yes actually,” she replied. “There’s going to be quite a bit of work for everyone following that up.”

“Happy to be of service,” he smiled and then just because it was a standard thing between them added flirtatiously, “Of course there are things other than retrieving packages that I am useful for.” He gave her one of his most seductive looks.

“Yes James, I’m sure at least half of MI6 is aware of just how useful you are,” was her immediate response in her normal brush off to his overtures.

The driver stiffened slightly. He must be new. James could smell his uncertainty. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with the overheard innuendo. It was obvious that he’d not been given the briefing on dealing with 00’s yet.

Eve caught the driver’s unease too. “Don’t tease the new hires,” she admonished him, “It inevitably results in excess paperwork.”

“Heaven forbid that you would be subject to any more paperwork,” he quipped back at her.

“Careful James, remember if you don’t keep on my good side I’ll make you do it!”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she replied with a half-smile.

The driver relaxed again realizing that the byplay was not what it had seemed. MI6 was not in the habit of hiring unintelligent people. He’d do just fine once he had a little bit of experience James thought. In addition, the low level flirtation had its intended effect of taking a bit off Moneypenny’s edginess. The rest of the trip passed in silence.

They entered the MI6 building through one of the biometric secured doors from the carpark. James was a little surprised when Moneypenny did not head to M’s office. Instead she escorted him to the small conference room just inside Medical. M was standing looking out the window and turned when they came in.

“007.”

“Sir.”

Gareth Mallory walked over and engaged the ECM protocols that made the room as private as possible. “Q was attacked early this morning as he attempted to enter his flat,” M started without preamble.

James struggled to contain a growl. Wolves were pack animals and werewolves shared that trait. Even werewolves like him who had declared themselves independent from traditional pack structures by going _lone wolf_ tended to form close relationships that served the same function as a pack and kept them stable. For James MI6 as a whole served that purpose but the other 00’s, Moneypenny, Tanner, Q and to some degree M himself were the people he counted as truly his. James was seriously dominant as a wolf. In a werewolf pack structure he would most likely be the Alpha, the top wolf, responsible for the protection of the others. The fact that someone had attacked and seriously injured one of _his_ people was intolerable.

“We lost Perkins his driver,” M continued, seemingly ignoring James’ rising ire. “We would have lost Q but for the fact that he happened to be on the phone with the graveyard crew in Q-branch when it happened. They managed to get a team and an ambulance there in less than 5 minutes.”

“Do you want me to track down the culprits?” James asked his voice low and gravely.

“No 007.” M’s body language was neutral and his eyes were on the table. It was clear to Bond that he was being very careful not to antagonize James’ wolf nature any more than the news itself was doing. “We have others working on that. No, if you would…, what I would like for you to…, is for you to guard Q and take whatever action you deem necessary to ensure the safety and security of MI6.”

The tone of his voice, the phrasing, the uncertainty he could hear and smell; it suddenly all made sense to James. Q had been attacked by a werewolf. The only question was whether he’d been hurt badly enough so that his human immune system had been compromised to the extent that the lycanthropy could take root. If that had happened the retrovirus would either kill him or turn him into a werewolf. It was not a simple or easy process. A full 60% of males and 80% of females died before the accelerated healing factor kicked in. For those who survived long enough for the change to take root a significant percentage were driven mad by the experience. That didn’t even mention those who completed the change but never gained control of the wolf part of themselves. Those people were the sources of the werewolf legends and needed to be removed sooner rather than later.

M was asking James to watch over Q and put him down if it became necessary. He didn’t know if M really understood what he was asking. At least he was asking, not ordering, him to perform the duties and take on the responsibilities of a pack Alpha. This was the very thing that James had gone lone wolf to avoid. With most anyone else James would be able to refuse but this was Q. One of the few people who knew what James was. The person who had designed weapons to account for his strength, tweaked gear to use with his acute senses, and developed a biochemical maskant to hid his scent from other wolves. No, he owed it to Q to help any way he could.

“Take me to him,” James growled.

M nodded at Monneypenny and canceled the ECM. She opened the door and set off down the hall without a word.

It was less than a minute and they were standing in one of the medical department’s secure ICU rooms. Q was lying still on the bed looking even frailer and more waif-like than usual. It didn’t help that he was covered in bandages and hooked up to a frightening array of machines. Given the extent of the damage James was a little surprised that Q wasn’t on a respirator.

James felt like tearing at something. He wanted to eviscerate the bastard that had done this.

“I know James,” Moneypenny said softly picking up on his mood. “We all feel that way.”

He realized then that he’d been growling under his breath. That was not good. He needed the get a hold on himself if he’d be of any use to Q. James took a deep breath to get his emotions under control. Once he felt under control he stepped up next to the bed and bent down to get a good sniff of Q’s scent. As he had suspected underneath the almost overpowering antiseptic and medication smells was a faint hint of wolf. Q was definitively infected. He stood up and stepped back from the bed to find not only Moneypenny but also Dr. Nielson watching him.

Dr. Erika Nielson was MI6’s medical expert in all things preternatural and magical. She was barely 5 foot tall, long haired, brunette, in her late 40’s, and looked as delicate as a porcelain doll. James knew first hand that her appearance was deceiving. She was muscled like a professional dancer, much stronger than she looked and could project an aura of confidence and authority which would intimidate most anyone. A black-belt in at least three martial arts disciplines she could hold her own in a sparring session with most of the agents. In fact, some of the trainers liked to use her to reinforce lessons on never underestimating an opponent. She was also the head of the team that dealt with his medical issues on the rare occasion that he needed such attention. Under the circumstances James was not at all surprised that she was the lead physician for Q’s care.

“Well?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Damn.” Dr. Nielson’s face was grim. “Accelerated healing should kick in 12 to 14 hours after infection.” She looked down at her watch then back at James. “We’ll need to get down to minimal monitoring and take out anything extraneous within the next hour or so to be safe then.” She turned to go, presumably to set things in motion but stopped and asked, “Will we need restraints?”

“No,” James replied. “I’ll handle it. I can restrain him without hurting him if necessary.”

That earned him a surprised stare. He never knew quite how much Dr. Nielson knew about werewolf pack dynamics but it was clear she had some knowledge given the way she had treated him when he was injured. She seemed to know that he was dominant. It was also clear that she knew that the presence of a strong dominant could help a newly infected wolf survive through the initial physiological shift as well as through the psychological ramifications. She raised an eyebrow at him. Asking silently if he knew what he was letting himself in for.

He acknowledged her question with a short nod.

“I suggest sweats or scrubs then; this may get crazy,” was her parting remark as she swept out of the room.

“Shall I…” Moneypenny started to ask.

“No,” James cut her off. “Stay here till I get back then you can report to M.” He put some force into the command and just assumed that she’d comply.

James headed for the gym and his locker at a trot. Sent was going to be an important factor in this. He’d used the maskant a day or so ago and it would still be partially effective. He needed to wash it off to allow his natural scent to reassert itself. He also had a clean set of sweats in his locker that would have picked up a good scent load from the other workout gear he stored there. There was something about the scent of a protective dominant wolf that calmed and reassured the very newly changed. It was a trick he’d seen used once and he intended to use every trick he knew to get Q through at least the initial stages with as minimal trauma as possible.

By the time he made it back to medical a shy 30 minutes later he found that the team had indeed been busy. There were fewer monitors and Q was down to one IV line. All of them could be disconnected easily. With James’ reappearance Moneypenny took herself off. James pulled up a chair and settled down to wait.

It wasn’t too long before Dr. Nielson came back into the room. She took a look at the remaining monitors and then fiddled a bit with the IV line. “Shouldn’t be long now,” she commented half to herself, “His temperature is starting to rise.” She looked directly at him then, “The monitoring sensors will disconnect if you pull here.” She indicated a tab. “Leave the IV in until the last possible moment. I’m running him on a high glucose solution which should hopefully give him some extra energy through the initial healing surge.”

James nodded. He could hear the concern in her voice.

“Is there anything you need to deal with this from here on in?” she asked him.

“Could you have the safe room stocked and ready? Its only four days until the full moon and I’ll want to move him down there as soon as he’s stable enough.” The full moon would trigger Q to change to wolf form regardless of how recent the lycanthropy infection. It wasn’t going to be safe to keep Q in medical when that happened. MI6 had a suite of rooms in one of the sub-basements that was specifically designed to hold a werewolf. James planned to install himself and Q there until the danger was past.

She grimaced “Damn, I’d forgot to check the lunar calendar. I’ll make sure it’s done. Anything else?”

James hesitated. There were reasons that MI6 Quartermasters were always known by the code name Q. It allowed them and their true identity to be protected from threats both external and internal. Q had only been Q for a year and a half and he’d had the designation R for only 6 months before that. Would he respond to his code name while in severe pain? Probably not.

“Yes, could you also find me his real name?”

He started to explain his reasoning but Dr. Neilson cut him off, “Good idea. He may not respond to Q. It’s Taliesan. Tal for short.”

James blinked at that. Q had been saddled with the name of an ancient Welsh bard? “How do you…”

“He was assigned to me when he first came into MI6,” Dr. Nielson stated. “I don’t only take care of agents you know.”

“Oh but none of the others are as exciting I’d wager,” despite the situation James couldn’t help teasing a bit.

“You’d think so but you’d be wrong. A lot of interesting injuries and medical issues come out of Q branch.” She smiled sadly in Q’s direction. Apparently Q had managed to get himself banged up enough to warrant her attention somewhat frequently. Dr. Neilson turned to go. “Page me if you need me.” She was almost out of the room but paused at the door and looked back. “I know this isn’t your usual type of mission but someone has to say it…good luck 007.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As noted in the summary this is NOT an A/B/O story even though the terms "alpha" and "omega" will be tossed around upon occasion. If you haven't already read Patricia Briggs' excellent work run, do not walk, and procure yourself copies however you can...you won't be disappointed. 
> 
> This will most likely be a slow updating story so please bear with it. Only lightly beta'd and not brit picked. As always kudos, reviews, comments and typo spotting are welcome.


	2. Safe Room

Q regained consciousness with what felt like a killer hangover. He was dizzy, his stomach slightly nauseous and his muscles felt like he’d been beaten all over. Hydration and painkillers were clearly going to be one of the first things on his _to do_ list. It was at this point that he realized that he wasn’t in his own bed. That triggered another completely different set of cogitations.

As he’d been taught by his brothers he rolled over feigning half-waking. He then calmed his heart rate, kept his breathing steady and went still again. Hopefully to any observer it would look like he had lapsed back into sleep. Sleep was definitely not what he was doing. _Use all your senses_ , he could almost hear his oldest brother’s voice instructing. _People ignore scent and you can deduce so much from it_ his middle brother had told him once. So what do I smell? Faint wisps of medical disinfectant had come from under the covers as he had turned over. He’d been in a medical setting or received medical treatment at some point then. An industrial cleaning solution meant a large building with janitorial service. Touch. Thread count on the sheets was relatively high. Freshly laundered and not overly used. Sound. A ventilation system blowing air. Ah, another scent. Gun oil combined with the body wash from the MI6 gym and something earthy, animal like, that he thought he should know but couldn’t quite place. Sound again. A slight shift of a body in a chair.

It was the body wash smell that convinced him. As far as Q knew that formulation was unique which meant that whomever it was had access to the MI6 gym. He cracked open his eyes and looked through his eyelashes. What he saw was reassuring. James Bond, 007, was sitting in a wing back chair across from him. Bond was dressed for a workout. T-shirt and sweats but his feet were bare. There was a paperback sitting on his lap but it was closed. From its position Q deduced that he’d put it down a few minutes before.

“Welcome back to the land of the living Q,” Bond said in his soft baritone.

It wasn’t easy to fool a 00 agent. They were trained to observe and observe closely. Q thought that Bond had most likely known he was awake from the first moment he came to consciousness. He opened his eyes fully and realized two things simultaneously. One, he was nude under the covers and two, he needed to use the loo rather desperately. Grunting, Q levered himself to sitting in the bed. All his joints protested along with his head and stomach.

As if reading his mind Bond observed, “Loo’s down the hall. I’ll dig you out something that should fit.”

He rose from his chair and proceeded to dig in a dresser that was sitting in one corner of the room. Q used the distraction to get up, stagger out of the room and down the hall to the loo.

30 minutes later Q, ablutions done and dressed in the sweats he’d found sitting outside the bathroom door, wandered into the area that served as a sitting room with an attached open kitchen where Bond was puttering around. As soon as he cleared the doorway Bond gestured to a seat at the table. When he complied an absolutely huge rare roast beef sandwich was placed in front of him followed by a mug of earl grey tea. He sat for a moment and just looked at the repast.

“Eat,” Bond ordered.

His stomach, having recovered from the initial nausea in the shower, agreed with the order. Q ate.

Q normally wasn’t one for large meals. If given a choice he was a grazer, 6 to 8 small meals in a day. It tended to suit his long hours and irregular work schedule better than gorging himself at any one setting. The size of the sandwich had given him pause but in short order he was looking at a bare plate and an empty mug. He looked at Bond then who was sitting across with a mug of tea and a similar empty plate.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You are quite welcome,” Bond replied.

“So, are you going to read me in?” Q asked.

Instead of starting to brief him Bond simply asked, “What do you remember?”

Q thought for a moment. What exactly did he remember? “I was in the car,” he started. “Josh was driving and I was on my mobile with George. He’d been having issues with a server firmware upgrade. We stopped at the entrance to my flat. Josh opened the door, I got out and…” Q trailed off. He remembered getting slammed against the side of the car, then blood, then pain. “Josh didn’t make it,” It was more of a statement than a question.

“No,” Bond was matter of fact.

“Pain, Medical, I was injured.” His memories were very fragmented and confused. He’d been hot, cold, in pain. He’d thrashed around then been held in someone’s arms until he fell asleep. Through it all Bond’s voice had come and gone. He didn’t remember the words just that he was being talked to and wasn’t alone. There was also a scent involved; that earthy, animal like scent that he’d not quite identified earlier, Bond. “You were there.”

“Yes.”

“I assume my attacker is still at large and this is why we are in one of the ultra-secure safe-houses with you guarding me.” The lack of windows and the decor had been a dead giveaway about the security of this particular set of rooms. “Where exactly are we by the way?”

Bond hesitated for a moment before replying, “The safe room in the HQ basement.”

There was only one set of rooms Bond would refer to by that designation. The rooms that were specially designed and fortified to hold Bond when he had been injured on or near the full moon. Q put it all together then. He’d been attacked by a werewolf and survived. He was infected. That meant Bond was the only person who could deal with him right now. Shit. He mumbled a little litany from his Uni days about seriously FUBAR situations under his breath.

 _Right then_ , he thought to himself. _Put emotional responses aside for now and acquire the relevant data_.

“How long since the attack?” he asked.

“3 days.”

A quick calculation. He realized that it should be a full moon tonight.

“What time is it?”

“About 1600”

“Moonrise is a bit after 1800 then.”

Bond gave him a surprised look at that.

“You think that I wouldn’t keep track of the lunar calendar and pertinent astronomical information like the time of moonrise when my best agent has a tendency to go furry because of it?” Q snapped.

“Q!” Bond’s voice was a rumble almost growl.

Q didn’t notice, “For Christ’s sake Q branch keeps track of most of the female agents, including 004’s, menstrual cycles. We track anything that could impact agent performance good or bad. Did you think we were amateurs or something?”

“Talliesen!” Bond’s voice cracked like a whip.

The use of his birth name snapped Q out of his rant like a slap to the face. He didn’t even know that Bond knew it. Why the heck had he snapped like that? It was overly emotional and completely unprofessional. What was wrong with him? He thought he’d had a decent handle on the emotions generated by suddenly having his life turned on end. Obviously not.

“Sorry.”

“I forgive you, I know it’s that time of the month,” Bond deadpanned.

“Got it,” Q grumbled back after a shocked pause. “Full moon affects emotional responses, check.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Somehow Q could tell that Bond was quite concerned about him and willing to do most anything to help him get through. He could almost feel the man willing support to him.

“So what do I need to know immediately?” Q asked.

Bond sighed, “Shifting at the full moon is pretty much involuntary for the first few years. You are going to shift tonight. It’s going to be painful and can take over three quarters of an hour the first time. The physical component is intense. Your entire internal physiology rearranges itself. I suggest you start out nude. Shifting makes your skin very sensitive and busting out of clothes is excruciating. The first few times are bad but it does get better as well as faster the more times you do it. It’s a good thing it does get faster, it’s the one time a werewolf is vulnerable to anything except silver so it’s always a good idea to change in a safe place if you can.

Bond paused, presumably trying to figure out what words to use, then continued, “Physical changes aside it’s the mental piece that’s much more difficult. You are going to need to come to some sort of accommodation with your wolf. Most talk about it in terms of controlling the wolf.”

Q considered Bond’s careful wording, “But you don’t.”

“No, but I seem to be more integrated with my wolf part than most.” Bond got a thoughtful look on his face. “I was a deep undercover agent before I was turned. You end up emphasizing and deemphasizing portions of your personality to play a particular role. There are a lot of similarities in the mind set.”

Q thought about it a little then asked the obvious question. “What happens if someone doesn’t get control of the wolf?”

“Where do you think all the legends about werewolves ravaging the countryside came from?”

Q thought some more. Going feral and destroying everything and everyone around him was not really an option. There was only really one solution if that happened.

Q looked Bond straight in the face, “I want you to promise me something.”

“What?”

“If I’m going to be a danger to MI6 or anyone else I want you to kill me.”

Bond blinked as if a bit surprised by his request before promising “I will.”

“Thank you.”

Q was surprised at how much better that simple promise made him feel. He’d known from the day he’d been promoted that if he became compromised or captured that MI6 would have no option but to kill him. There was just too much classified information and the ability to hack into almost anything was just too dangerous to leave loose in enemy hands. In theory this was no different but somehow the threat of turning his co-workers and subordinates into chopped meat seemed to represent a bigger problem that needed a personal solution.

They sat in silence for a bit. Q was thinking about what he knew from modifying equipment for Bond. There would be enhanced hearing and smell in human form as well as increased strength and stamina. He’d have to work some modifications on his personal gear post haste.

Bond was apparently thinking along the same lines. “You know most of the general physical parameters for the human form from working with my gear. I suspect you’ll need to make a few structural modifications to you work areas to account for the increased strength.”

“Anything else?”

“Wolf form is different. Lots of sensory information that you won’t be able to process correctly for a while. It can be overwhelming. You should have an instinctive response to most of it. Rely on that for the first few times out and you should be fine.” Bond paused again then asked, “You don’t swim do you?”

“Huh?” Q was confused.

“Body density,” Bond explained. “You are now a lot more dense than you used to be. Swimming is possible but tiring. Scuba, however, is much easier.”

“Are you telling me werewolves sink?”

“Yes. Most of them don’t swim either for just that reason. That density also means you’ll also need to consume a lot more calories to keep up with the metabolism. A good portion of it should be protein, the rarer the better.”

Q looked at the clock on the wall. It was now 16:45. Bond glanced at it too. “Time to lock things down,” he commented and went over to a phone on the wall by what appeared to be the front door.

Bond hit the speakerphone button and punched in a number. It didn’t even ring before Monneypenny was on the line, “Yes James?”

“Let’s lock things down. Don’t unlock until at least 06:00 regardless.”

“Noted.” Moneypenny’s voice was firm, “Locking down now.” Q heard the distinct thunk of bolts from the door frame sliding into place in the door.

Q expected Moneypenny to hang up at that point but she continued, “How’s Q doing?”

Bond looked at him, clearly expecting that he’d respond. “I’m doing as well as can be expected all things considered Eve,” Q replied to her. “How’s the branch holding up?”

“Quite well given that their _evil overlord_ is officially injured and out of commission. I expect the programmers at least to start trying to hack your medical records sometime in the next two or three days if you continue incommunicado. They are really worried about you,” Moneypenny continued. “We all are.” She paused again and her voice was slightly deeper than before, “Good luck Q,” she said then added “Take care of him James or I’ll need to do something drastic.”

“Acknowledged Monneypenny,” Bond replied, “I wouldn’t want you to shoot me again would I?” He hung up then dialed another number and at the tone keyed in a code. Q heard a secondary set of bolts move into place. Double protection. One to protect MI6 from James and now him, another to protect them from MI6.

“So, how do you want to do this?” Q asked to avoid discussing the implications of two sets of bolts.

“I can either talk you through it or change first and show you. Your choice.”

Q thought about it for a moment then said “Talk me through it please.”

“I think one of the bedrooms would be a good place for this,” Bond gestured. “You also should rest before it hits you. You used up a lot of your body’s reserves in the last three days.”

“How will I know when its time?

“You will get restless and your skin will feel crawly, start to itch or both.”

“Wonderful,” Q replied as he stood up and walked back toward the bedroom.

He paused in the doorway. Nude, Bond had said. OK, he could do that. Bed or floor? Sensitive skin might be better on something smooth rather than on cloth. Floor it was then. Q moved into the room and stripped down. He snagged the duvet off the bed, wrapped it around himself and sat on the floor. No sense in getting cold while waiting for the inevitable to happen. He took a deep breath and tried to put himself into the mindset he used when monitoring a mission that had gone into waiting mode. A relaxed, enforced calm almost meditative state that left him ready to react with whatever his agent needed at a moment’s notice. When Bond entered a few minutes later he was able to look up at him with a measure of equanimity.

Of course that’s when the itching started. It felt like the time he fell into the nettles when he was 8 and then it got worse. It wasn’t so much the pain, which was as predicted intense, but the disconcerting rearranging that he could feel going on inside. Things stretching, shifting, odd crunching and cracking noises. Through it all there was a sense of something wild, untamed coming closer, ever closer.

Q ignored the pain, the bizarre physical sensations and concentrated on that feeling of wildness. It felt like something dangerous just waiting to be unleashed. It felt familiar like…Q suddenly had an idea. He consciously decided to accept it, welcome it as part of himself. It was no different than how he viewed and used his emotional state. His brothers had inadvertently taught him that. His eldest brother kept his emotional state under iron control. His middle brother had decided not to have any emotions at all. Neither strategy had worked especially well for them. No, Q had determined that emotions were the part of him that needed to be understood, used, contained on some occasions and released on others. This new wolf thing was no different. Q closed his eyes and concentrated. He knew it was going to take a lot of brain-work to integrate this into his existing mental structure.

Q didn’t know how long after the change he’d lain on the floor dealing with the new wild part of himself but eventually awareness of the outside world slowly intruded. He could hear Bond speaking and felt a hand carding through the fur on the back of his neck and his head. The touch was soothing, comforting. He opened his eyes and looked up into Bond’s concerned face.

“You know,” Bond said conversationally still running his hand through the ruff on Q’s neck, “You have the most ridiculously long messy fur that I’ve ever seen on a wolf form. If it wasn’t for the color someone might mistake you for a sheepdog!”

Q snorted at that and tried to stand up. It took a moment before he found his feet, all four of them. Bond had been correct to tell him to rely on his instincts. As long as he didn’t think too much about it he could move without tripping and the sensory input was not overwhelming. No worse than providing agent direction while hacking at the same time. After a bit of walking and sniffing around he looked back at Bond who had been watching his explorations with apparent amusement. Q wondered what now so he sat and cocked his head. Hopefully that would convey his question.

Bond said simply “Food.”

He got up from his seat on the floor and led the way to the kitchen. Once there he extracted a large bowl of cubed beef from the refrigerator. Bond sat down on the floor placing the bowl beside him. He snagged a piece for himself then said to Q, “Go ahead you need the protein.”

Q didn’t have to be told twice. The meat smelled wonderful. Before he realized it he had eaten most of the bowl. He looked at Bond guiltily.

“Go ahead and finish it if you want,” he said smiling.

Reassured Q did so.

Bond ruffled his fur again. “If you are OK on your own for a bit I’m going to go shift,” he said standing up and heading for the bedroom.

Q thought for a moment. Bond had said that the time a werewolf was most vulnerable was when he was changing forms. 007 was, in many ways, his agent. Regardless of the fact that they were not only locked in but also had locked the rest of MI6 out Bond was going to be helpless for a few minutes and it was his duty to watch out for him while he changed regardless of whether Bond wanted him to or not. Decision made, Q followed Bond into the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all good conscience I couldn't just leave you all sitting there with Q's life in the balance for too long.


	3. Werewolf Physiology 101

James woke up still in wolf form. That was highly unusual. He rarely slept when he was in wolf form and never before when he was inside a building. He momentarily wondered why but then realized that the reason was curled up next to him snoring slightly with his head on James’ flank. Newly changed wolves needed lots of physical contact. Being in wolf form just made that easier. Thinking about it a little more he decided there was also something about Q that made him feel comfortable and safe. James supposed it was a carryover from all the missions they’d run together where it was Q’s calm voice on the coms providing information, direction, aid and assistance all with the intent of completing the mission and bringing him home safe and sound.

James had been impressed by Q from their very first meeting in the National Gallery. Very few people had the mental agility and intestinal fortitude to deal with him when he was in as black a mood as he’d been in that day. His subsequent interactions with the Quartermaster had only increased his regard. The man was an absolute genius with computers, a competent engineer, inveterate tinkerer, loyal, and willing to bend or even break rules when necessary to get the job done.

He had never thought of Q as physically strong but the last three days had surprised him. Underneath those hideous jumpers and patterned trousers James now knew lay a wiry strength. He had at times been hard pressed to keep Q from injuring himself as the virus rearranged his entire body. What had impressed him most, however, was Q’s mental reaction to the entire situation. He’d expected Q to be upset but other than a short period of surprise Q had seemed to skip the anger and depression stages that most people went through when infected and gone straight to acceptance and coping. The bit of conversation about eliminating Q if he became a threat has also been an eye opener. James knew that the Quartermaster was, along with M, one of the positions in MI6 where protocol was kill if compromised. He just hadn’t expected that Q would apply that reasoning in this particular situation.

James wondered if that mental flexibility and acceptance had also helped Q’s first shift go so smoothly. Normally the initial change was a haphazard affair with some parts of the form going from human to wolf faster than others. Q’s shift had started that way but about half way through something had changed and the shift had evened out becoming something more akin to his own metamorphosis into wolf-form. Another bit of strangeness was Q’s fur. Most werewolf fur was short and bristly like that of a wild wolf. Q, on the other hand, had ended up with something akin to a long haired retriever with 4 to 5 inch slightly curling chocolate brown fur all over his body.

That hadn’t been the end of the surprises. Once changed new werewolves would most often need at least some help from an alpha or other dominant wolf to gain control and not become feral immediately. Avoiding being completely dominated by the instinctual wolf side when on four feet was a trick that often required months and some outside help to develop. It had taken James himself three months to feel comfortable in his wolf form. When Q opened his eyes after the shift it had come as quite a shock to Bond that Q was almost completely integrated with his wolf.

It had also taken less time than James had expected before Q was up and moving. He had adapted to eating and appeared to have had no trouble with the additional sensory input. James made a mental note to ask about that when Q got back on two feet. In fact, given how well everything went James had felt it was safe enough to change himself a full two hours before he absolutely needed to shift. That particular decision had resulted in the last surprise of the evening. Once James had announced his intent Q had followed him into the bedroom and placed himself in the optimum position to attack anyone who came through the door. This was despite the fact that he knew that Q had registered both sets of deadbolts engaging. Q, it seemed, was still determined to be the Quartermaster and protect his agent regardless of the form he happened to be in at the time.

Q snorted and shifted in his sleep moving his head from James’ flank to the bed. Q rooted around a bit until his nose was firmly under James’ fore leg with his back pressed against James’ belly. Spooning werewolves James thought to himself as he imagined the picture they made laying on the bed. With Q’s dark brown long slightly curling fur and his own dark black on black coat it would not doubt look seriously cute. Moneypenny would kill for such a picture. Thank heavens these rooms had absolutely no video surveillance. Thinking of Moneypenny made James sigh. It was a little after 06:00 so he really should get up, shift and let M know that he’d not had to kill the Quartermaster overnight.

Extracting himself from the bed proved to be a bit more difficult than he had expected. Every time he moved Q had snuggled up to him again. He finally ended up pulling the duvet over both of them. Once that was done he found that he could manage to escape the bed leaving Q in full possession with only the tip of his nose and his tail sticking out from under the blanket. Back in human form as the first order of business he called Eve with the news. She answered before the phone even registered a ring.

“Good morning James.” Her tone was a question masquerading as a statement. That meant someone was in her office. “Go on in sir,” she said to someone confirming his suspicions.

“Just reporting last night’s success,” he continued in a lower tone “No casualties.”

“Wonderful.” He could hear Eve typing on her computer and moments later the door bolts retracted. Eve continued, “You’ll still need to report the results to Dr. Neilson though.” Moneypenny was still being evasive. That meant whomever was in M’s office was high ranking enough to have a bodyguard or two cooling their heels in the outer office.

James thought quickly about how to phrase this just in case someone was close enough to overhear. “She is welcome to come down and retrieve the report herself. Let her know, however, that as expected the sample is a bit fuzzy.”

“I’ll relay the message.” Eve concluded then rang off.

Normally James wouldn’t let a human in with the newly changed in wolf form for at least a few months. Something about a full human’s smell tended to make the wolf persona uneasy at best. Probably a vestigial left over from when humans and wolves were competitors for prey. However, Q was going to need to interact with humans almost immediately. A trial run with Dr. Neilson would be just enough to determine exactly how much they would need to accommodate Q’s new status. He punched the code into the phone that retracted the silver coated steel bars from the doors. They slid back into their housings with a thunk that was only audible to a werewolf’s sensitive hearing. No doubt Dr. Neilson would be down as fast as she could reasonably get here without arousing suspicion.

It only took twenty minutes before there was a polite tap on the outer door to the secure suite. James let Dr. Neilson in. She looked and smelled relatively well rested with an overtone of excitement.

“How did it go?” was the first question out of her mouth.

“Very well,” James replied. “I assume you’ll want to see him in both forms?”

“Yes please if possible. I can wait on the four footed one if you think it wiser. I know newbies can be a bit volatile.”

“Not necessary. I’ll go see if I can roust him out. He seems to be having a bit of a lie in,” James said with a grin.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she replied as James turned and headed for the bedroom. He was just at the door way when he heard her murmur half to herself “I wonder if he’s as grumpy as a wolf as he is as a human when he hasn’t had his normal morning caffeine input.”

Q had moved a bit since James had left. Only the tip of his tail was sticking out from under the pile of bedding in the middle of the bed.

“Time to get up Q, you’ve got a visitor.”

The response was a low whine that James had no problem interpreting as something like _go away and give me another half-hour at least._

James put a bit dominance growl in his voice and tried again, “Come on. You don’t want to keep Dr. Neilson waiting.”

The amount of force he put into that should have had Q, depending on where exactly he fell in the dominance hierarchy, off the bed and trembling in a submissive posture or at his throat. What actually happened was not what James had expected. The lump on the bed which was Q simply lay there. He didn’t even twitch or otherwise acknowledge the growl. Bond stared at the lump then, not knowing quite what else to do, he reached out and grabbed the tip of Q’s tail and tweaked it. That got a reaction as Q tucked his tail under the covers and let out a heavy sigh. That sigh was quickly followed by another then by squirming and Q emerged from under the covers. James had to stifle a laugh. Q’s fur looked like the worst bed head he’d ever seen all over his body. Q seemed to be oblivious to the mussed fur. He just stretched then gave James a questioning look.

 “Yes she wants to see you this way too.”

Q made a slight motion that suggested a shrug then padded to the door and nudged it open. He trotted down the hall toward the kitchenette and Dr. Neilson freezing on the threshold. Something had startled Q and James moved quickly to see what the matter was.

Dr. Neilson was sitting on the floor, eyes down and neck bent. It was a wise position for a human dealing with a new wolf. Her posture and demeanor was picture perfect and James fleetingly wondered how and where she’d learned it. Her scent was concerned but not fearful. It was clear that she trusted both James and Q not to hurt her. So what the heck had caused Q to freeze like that? Finally Q started to move. He walked slowly and carefully up to the seated doctor. His body language was overtly friendly. It was almost as if he was afraid of scaring her. Oh. It suddenly clicked. Q was mistaking the scent of her concern for fear.

She let him get a good sniff at her before she looked directly at him. She glanced up at Bond then addressed them both, “May I touch?”

Q gave a huff just as James said “Yes.”

That earned him a sideways look from Q and a nod from Dr. Neilson.

Dr. Neilson got up on her knees then started running her hands over Q’s body. It was clear that she was watching him carefully to see when her exploration caused pain. When she finished she sat back on her heels and said, “About what I expected.”

In another bit of werewolf etiquette she remained on the floor until James gave a short nod and asked, “Tea?”

A short while later they were seated in the sitting room, Bond and Q on the sofa and Dr. Neilson in one of the armchairs. If she found it disconcerting to be talking to a man and an oversized wolf she hid it admirably. In fact if James had to guess she’d been in a similar situation at least once or twice before. That in and of itself raised a whole new set of questions.

“OK, I don’t know how much Bond has told you about the medical side of things,” she started in briskly. “You are now immune to most bacteria and viruses and heal quicker than normal with a few exceptions. The biggest one is silver. Treat it like a severe allergy and you’ll be alright. Second exception is your bones. They are denser and will set fast if broken but they won’t get back to full strength until six weeks or so after breaking. The best thing to remember is if you break something get it set fast so you don’t have to rebreak it to set it correctly. You’ll be able to use it in a day or two but it will still give you twinges until it’s fully healed.  Avoid getting shot. While lead and copper won’t kill you outright absent a very lucky shot they do hurt like heck as they fester out of your body."

She paused to assess how much Q was taking in. Judging from his body language James would bet that he could repeat the information back word for word.

Reassured that Q was paying attention Dr. Neilson continued, “All that extra healing capacity, denser body mass and extra fine senses also means that your metabolism is now completely different. You’ll need to up your caloric intake by at least four times your current rate. At least half of that should be protein. You’ll most likely have help with that.” she suddenly smiled at Q, “Your minions hacked your medical file this morning. Not the real one,” she reassured him, “just the one I had stored electronically. I put something in there about you needing more protein. Your real file is now Protocol Delta, top secret eyes only and stored in a safe in medical.”

“Welcome to the club Q,” James chimed in.

That earned him a dirty look from the doctor. “Not that you’ll need medical attention as often as this oaf,” she waived her hand in his direction. She paused again and looked as if she was ticking off items on a mental checklist. “I’m planning to officially release you from medical tomorrow afternoon with a recommendation that you have a bodyguard for anything outside the building for a few weeks. I suspect M will assign James for that particular job.” She stood at that. “Come on up to medical once you are on two feet again so we can go over the electronic file and come up with some,” she paused for a moment thinking, “compensating behaviors to attribute to your injuries.” She moved to exit but paused again at the door, “Feel free to come and bug me about any questions you might have on the medical side of things. I may not know the answer immediately but I do have some contacts that I can ask discretely.”

“Contacts?” James was curious. This was the first he’d ever heard that there were people other than werewolves which knew something more than just the basics about werewolf medical issues.

“Yes James, contacts. Most of the larger packs have at least someone with paramedic training and some have full-fledged doctors. Despite that there are a few normal folks like me who have experience with wolf medical issues. Given the uniqueness of the practice area we tend to keep in touch.” She hesitated a moment hand on the door, “There are three of us in greater London, one in Cardiff and another in Glasgow. Their names and contact information are in the same place as your medical files just in case.” With that parting comment she left.

James was feeling a little stunned at this new information and she was gone before he could continue to question her. All in all, the whole interaction this morning had confirmed that Dr. Neilson had a very strange background indeed. Where the heck had she learned about werewolves in general and from who? It was clear to James that he needed to do some investigation. He looked over at Q then. He too was looking thoughtful. Well it looked like he’d have an ally in digging up the good Doctor’s background, however, any discussion about that would need to wait until Q was back in human form.

That thought lead to another. Given how well the initial transformation had went and Q’s obvious high level of adjustment it might be worth a try to see if Q could revert back to human on his own initiative.

“Do you want to try and change back?”

Q’s ears went up and his tail thumped once on the sofa. James interpreted that as a yes.

“OK we can try then. First thing you need to know is not to panic if it doesn’t work. New wolves revert back to human form naturally 24 to 36 hours after the initial change. You are not going to be stuck.”

Q’s body language indicated a bit of relief at that.

James continued, “One of the ways to initiate the shift back is to concentrate on physical sensations or actions that you can’t do as a wolf. For me its guns. Shooting, breaking down, assembling, cleaning, things like that.”

Q nodded. James was a little surprised at what he’d said. He’d never before told anyone what his triggers were for shifting. Triggers were intensely personal thing for most werewolves and rarely shared with anyone else. Telling Q, however, seemed to be the right thing to do.

“You can try here but I suggest that the bedroom might be better. You are going to be a bit sensitive in the skin department again for a few minutes after you change.”

Q hopped off the sofa and went back into the bedroom, James following. He looked at the bed, thought for a minute then lay down on the floor. He closed his eyes and went still. James sat down in the chair. This might take a while.

It was some 20 minutes later, just as James was just about ready to have Q call a halt and try again in the afternoon, when it started. Q had been twitching every so often since he had closed his eyes but this was more of a total body shudder. Once again Q’s transformation was smooth and steady, unlike that of most new wolves. It only took ten minutes and there was a naked, panting Q lying on the floor where the wolf had been. James stood, grabbed the duvet and gently covered Q. It wouldn’t do for him to get cold before he had recovered from the change. James knew from experience that was a good way to have muscle aches for the rest of the day. It wasn’t too long thereafter that Q sat up.

“Coding with a keyboard,” was the first thing he said and James knew what Q’s trigger was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle Readers: Merry, Happy, Blessed whatever you happen to celebrate this time of year (even if its just an extra day off) and may the new year bring all the best to you and yours!
> 
> K2N2


	4. Keeping Secrets

_15:00 time to start shutting down_ , Q thought. He needed to get a move on if he was going to make it to Moneypenny’s house before moonrise. Q was looking forward to tonight. His first time out in the open rather than sitting out the full moon in the safe room. If all went well he’d be spending most full moons there rather than locked up in the HQ basement.

The last three months had been interesting to say the least. The first few weeks he’d _played injured_ and let the minions coddle him based upon the faked medical file. It was nice at first since food and tea seemed to appear out of nowhere at frequent intervals. Unfortunately he had to put a stop to it before some smart soul started tracking his calorie consumption and realized just what an astronomical amount of food he was consuming on a daily basis.

Since 007 had been officially assigned as his bodyguard while he healed, Q had used his presence as an excuse to upgrade the sturdiness of equipment and furniture in the entire branch. Of course some wag had immediately labeled the project _Bond proofing_ and it stuck. By the time all was said and done Q suspected that a small explosion in the middle of the Q branch bullpen would cause only minimal damage to both personnel and equipment.

The second full moon shift went off without a hitch physically. Bond was a bit concerned however that Q didn’t seem to have an instinctual knowledge of proper wolf etiquette. Q wasn’t worried. It didn’t seem to him to be a problem. He had a general understanding of the rules it just felt like they didn’t apply to him. Bond finally gave him a list of fall back behaviors to use in wolf form if he didn’t have a clue what to do. Q floated the idea of talking to Dr. Neilson about it but that was quickly put on hold. Even though she was MI6 and completely vetted as far as intelligence matters Bond didn’t quite trust her on the wolf side of things. After a bit of argument Q had agreed that they wouldn’t ask her directly about it until they had at least some minimal facts about where she learned what she knew about werewolves. That, of course, meant that Q was going to have to hack into her personnel files at the minimum. He just added it as another item on his ever growing to do list.

After his third full moon things had become even more complicated. It had started when he got back to his office from spending the night in the safe room to find R sitting in his visitor chair waiting for him. No sooner had he entered then Mattie had locked the room down into privacy mode, put her hands on her hips and asked him point blank if he’d ever planned to tell her about the lycanthropy. Once Q got over his surprise that she even knew about the existence of werewolves, apparently she had a cousin who was one, he’d had to explain the argument he’d lost with M over the matter and apologize profusely. It was only then that she had informed him that a majority of Q branch already had suspicions that Bond was some sort of shape shifting Fae and that at least a few were now suspecting him of being the same. After a bit of discussion they came up with a plan to cover his full moon absences. They also agreed to make his personal lab into another _safe room_ just in case he couldn’t get away in time or needed to be available quickly after shifting back. Most importantly she was going to pass the word that no one was to _officially_ know about his and Bond’s status and that under no circumstances was that _unofficial knowledge_ to be shared outside the branch upon pain of fatal lab accident.

It was only a day or two later that the 00’s ended up finding out. In hindsight that was primarily Q’s fault. As far as the rest of MI6 was concerned Bond, under the auspices of M’s recent mandate that _all branch heads be retrained in self-defense_ , had taken up Q’s retaining as a personal project. While retraining was still a part of the overall program what they were really doing was getting Q accustomed to his enhanced reflexes. They had been blacking out and locking down one of the smaller exercise rooms several times a week whenever Bond was in the country, which was more often than not since Q had been attacked. Bond as the trainer had been the one to reserve and black out the room. Unfortunately, what Q had forgotten was that the security system had been set up such that the 00’s could all override each other’s lock downs. If he’d been the one to lock the room 006, Alec Trevelyan, would not have walked in on one of their training sessions.

That particular day Q had been armed with a Bo staff while Bond attacked barehanded. Alec, once he had assessed what he thought was the situation, had made a smart ass crack about seeing the Quartermaster with a quarterstaff. Of course Bond had taken credit for Q’s prowess with same, not bothering to mention the fact that Q happened to also have a Karate black-belt and quite a bit of mock combat from his days at Uni when he was part of the Society for Creative Anachronism. The upshot of the banter was that Alec challenged Q to a sparring match to see how well Bond’s training had _taken_.

Q had, much to the 00’s surprise, been able to defend himself up to a certain point. Luckily when he had determined just exactly how good Q was Alec started being a bit sloppy. It was only a minute or so after that when he left himself open for a mere fraction of a second. Q took the opportunity and delivered an inhumanly swift kick to his stomach causing him to skid back, loose balance and fall. Alec had rolled and came to his feet watching Q who had reverted to a ready stance.

He didn’t continue attacking but exclaimed “Damn Q you kick as fast as Bond!” It was as if the words had triggered something because after a pause the next thing out of his mouth was “Oh God, you too?” as he looked from Q to Bond and back again.

Alec apparently took it upon himself to cue in the other 00’s because over the next two weeks each of them cornered Q at one point or another. It was rather gratifying, Q thought, to have the elite agents let him know in no uncertain terms that not only did they have no problems with his condition but that they’d also protect him and his secret with their very lives. He was theirs and they were his and that as far as they were concerned the fact that he went furry once a month had no bearing on the issue at all.

Q shook himself out of his memories and glanced at the clock. 15:30, he really needed to get moving.

An hour later he found himself in Moneypenney’s row house kitchen eating a sandwich and waiting for Bond and moonrise. He had just finished when James came wandering in. Bond placed two small metallic objects with a rubberized edge coating down on the table next to Q. Q picked them up. They were dog tags similar to the ones soldiers wore. The rubberized edge was meant to keep them from clanking together and making noise. One side read _Quentin (Q)_ with an 11 digit number underneath it while the other side had a phone number. It was a little strange looking at what was clearly a cover identity in the form of a dog tag. He glanced at Bond curiously..

“Had to stop and pick these up,” James commented. “Just an insurance policy in case we get cornered by animal control. Moneypenny here can bail us out.”

“Do you have to do that often?” Q asked Moneypenny curiously.

Eve giggled, “Only once so far.”

Q looked down at the tags again. They were set up with a hole so that they could be strung on a chain or a collar. Just as he started thinking about what type of chain to put them on James put a military style leather dog collar on the table next to his hand.

“You can use this for the time being. You can design something more to your liking for our next outing if you like. Why don’t you go get changed while I get these attached.”

Despite the conversational tone Q realized that the statement was backed with a force that rendered it effectively an order. While he didn’t feel compelled to obey it wasn’t worth the effort to argue so he went to the guest bedroom that Moneypenny had showed him earlier and shifted.

When he came back to full awareness after the shift it was to a cacophony of smells. He hadn’t consciously registered how well the filtration system at MI6 dealt with odor until now. The room smelt slightly of orange with an overlay of the coconut and cinnamon that he associated with Moneypenny. He lay still and attempted to sort out the fainter scents. There was a bit of peat moss, aftershave and wolf under the generic MI6 soap smell. That was James. He’d been using the scent neutralizer and had taken the time to wash most of it off before showing up. He could smell the remains of his sandwich, some sort of stew and something else. Was that leftover Chinese take away? Having sorted out the scents for the moment Q got up and rejoined the others in the kitchen.

Upon his entry Moneypenny, who was sitting backwards on a chair, looked up and gasped, “Oh Q, you are gorgeous!” which caused Bond to laugh.

“Just because your wolf form looks like you’d been dumped in a pile of coal dust doesn’t mean you can denigrate Q’s!” she teased.

That caused James to laugh harder. “Better get used to it Q,” he gasped out between chuckles. “It seems to be an instinctive female reaction to your fur!” He caught his breath then sobered, “Could be useful. People tend to be scared of my form but if Moneypenny and Erika’s reactions hold true you should be able to pull off _overly large friendly dog_.” He thought about it for a moment then said to Moneypenny, “Why don’t you get him set up and explain the door while I go change” and walked out of the room.

“Right then,” remarked Moneypenny in a back to business tone of voice. “May I put this on you?” she asked holding out the collar.

Q walked over and sat down in front of her. She fastened the collar around his neck and asked “Too tight?” He shook his head from side to side getting used to the feel of something around his neck and looked up at her. He couldn’t tell.

Eve put her hand out and ran her fingers around the inside of the collar. “It feels OK to me,” she commented, “but then I’m not the one wearing it. You don’t want it too loose though. It might catch on something.” She tugged a little on it to check the fit again then ran her fingers up the back of his head and scratched him behind the ears.

The caress felt good. Really good. Q leaned into her touch.

Moneypenny snatched her hand away as if burned and blurted “Sorry!” She looked embarrassed.

Q was confused. Why had she reacted that way? It had felt nice and he didn’t object. In fact he wouldn’t mind if she did it again. Then it dawned on him. Oh, yeah, feeling up a branch head might be considered inappropriate regardless of the form he happened to be in at the time. In addition scratching a werewolf on the head like a large dog might be a similar faux pas. To heck with the rules Q decided on impulse. He moved to deliberately rest his chin on Eve’s leg gently wagging his tail at the same time. She took the hint and scratched behind his ears again. Q sighed with contentment.

“This is all kinds of wrong on way too many levels Q,” she said but she didn’t stop scratching. “Now what else do I need to tell you? There’s a chip in your collar that will open the back door if you get it up near the alarm keypad. Just bark or make some noise when you come in so I know it’s you. Otherwise you might be the recipient of a bullet. The chip can also be used as a GPS locater so Q branch will be able to track you if I ask them to activate it. The phone number will ring on both my mobile and M’s. The 11 digit number is your dog license. It’s in one of my cover identities so I’m your primary backup. If you end up getting overwhelmed or get injured don’t worry. I have a safe room in the basement that I can lock you into if necessary. That’s about it unless you want a snack before you venture out?”

Q put his ears up and looked up hopefully. Regardless of how much he ate just before, shifting seemed to make him hungry. Moneypenny was either a quick study or used to lupine behavior because she laughed, pushed his head off her leg and stood. Going to the fridge she pulled out a bowl of what looked like steak tartar formed into bite sized balls. It smelled amazing. She tossed him one and he snagged it out of the air. It tasted as good as it smelled. Moneypenny grabbed another one from the bowl and tossed it over his head. Q turned to jump and catch it only to realize that the toss had been to James who had neatly caught the small ball of meat and swallowed it whole.

“Do you want some more or should I put it into the fridge for when you get back?”

James made a head jerk toward the fridge. Q could have happily eaten the rest of the bowl but if he did the only thing he’d be doing tonight would be taking a nap so James was right, it was probably a good idea to leave it for later. Eve put the food away then walked over and opened the back door. “Keep him safe James,” was all she said as Q stepped outside as a werewolf for the very first time.

Based on his experience in the house Q though he’d been ready for Moneypenny’s back garden. He wasn’t. The scent and noise level was almost overwhelming. Q staggered, struggling to make sense of all the smells and sounds that seemed to be bombarding him all at once. He managed to make it out into the yard proper and then collapsed whining under his breath. James lay down next to him moments later and he stuck his nose into Bond’s black fur. The familiar scent acted as a blanket and a buffer from the cacophony of information.

There’s got to be a way to deal with this, Q thought. It’s like a different language or a new piece of code. He just needed to take it apart, break it down into its components and come up with a translation to relate it to what he already knew. It was nothing he hadn’t done before. He took another deep breath and stuck his nose under Bond’s neck. It was as if the scent of wolf had unlocked something. He already had a translation and a way to relate the input. It was just instinctual to his wolf part not conscious. So how to tap into that? He realized that he had the answer to that too. He did it all the time when hacking at the same time as running an operation. The hacking was so ingrained that he didn’t need to think about what he did, he just did it while most of his concentration was on the mission itself. It took another couple breaths to get himself into the proper mindset and pulled his nose back out from under Bond. The sensory input was no longer overwhelming. He now had to convince James that he was alright.

Q stretched his head up and lightly nipped Bond’s ear then scrambled back out of the way as Bond surged to his feet with a growl. Q immediately dropped down on his front legs with his backside up, tail wagging, in the classic canine invitation to play. James snorted and started to turn his back but suddenly shifted direction into a rush at Q. Q was still somewhat clumsy in wolf form and couldn’t quite get out of the way fast enough. As a result they toppled over in a rolling tangle. Half an hour later Q found himself on his back with Bond’s teeth gently on his neck. He went limp in submission. Play time was apparently over.

James made hopping the garden fence look easy. Q’s own exodus was less graceful. He was just happy that he managed to land on his four feet as opposed to sprawling inelegantly on the pavement. It wasn’t fair. No matter what form James Bond was in and regardless of what he was doing he managed to look elegant, perfectly groomed with not a hair out of place.

Their first stop was the local park. They mucked about there for a while letting Q experience smells and sound. Once he was comfortable James had led him on a rambling tour of the local streets. Thus, it was half past midnight when Q caught the scent. It was faint on the breeze but it smelled familiar. Q put his ears up and decided to see if he could track it.

It took a bit but Q eventually located a hard scent trail. It started at a corner. As if someone had got out of a car or more likely a cab. No, it was two someone’s. One was the familiar scent Q had caught on the breeze while the other smelled like what Q had mentally labeled eau-de-medical-professional. That odor was a combination of plastic gloves, hand sanitizer, sterilized metal, and betadine. Dr. Neilson’s scent added perfume to the mix. This particular person however had a faint overtone of cheap shampoo and oddly gunpowder. Q followed the scents down the pavement and around the corner only to be brought up short by Bond’s low growl.

Q looked around and realized that he’d almost walked into the sight of a group of the MET’s finest. There were several panda cars with lights flashing as well as a couple of unmarked vehicles parked in front of a house less than half a block down. There was crime scene tape across the front gate and a plain clothes officer controlling access. Q moved back into the shadows and sat down to watch for something interesting.

He didn’t have long to wait. The house door opened and three men proceeded to the pavement. The first was obviously a member of the MET, probably a DI, judging by his clothes and the way the officer at the crime scene tape reacted. He was about 5’10” and his hair was mostly silver. He looked rumpled, tired and vaguely annoyed. He was attempting to get a word in edgewise with a tall thin impeccably dressed man in a long flaring coat. They were followed by a shorter, solid, unassuming looking gentleman who seemed to be amused by the taller man’s exposition. The tall man paused then turned to examine the front of the house. He walked to the corner and peered into the gap between the houses talking intermittently to the other two men who trailed after him. Apparently finished, the tall man made his way to the front gate, stepped out and glanced both ways, presumably looking for a cab. The short man had a few words with the MET DI then hurried after his taller companion who had given up on a cab and was now striding down the pavement.

Q thought to himself, _this should prove interesting_ , and keeping to the shadows started to follow the two men.


	5. Things That Growl In The Night

“Why,” Dr. John Watson asked his companion, “do I seem to end up spending late Friday nights with you at a crime scene?”

“Statistically,” his flat mate replied without slowing his pace toward the neat row house with the police cars parked in front, “I am most often called at night for cases rating 8 or above. In addition, violent crime takes an upswing at the end of the week so you shouldn’t be terribly surprised to be at a crime scene with me on a Friday night.”

“What I was implying,” said John, “was that given my choice of Friday night activities I seem to end up traipsing around after you which doesn’t say much for either my getting a leg over or my sanity.”

“I’ve never doubted your sanity John but your taste in potential inamoratas leaves a lot to be desired.”

“So you are critiquing my dating choices now?”

“No, just making an observation that the women you date are inevitably bathyklopian, fall within a range of other physical paramaters and are all in all uniformly boring!”

By that point the two men had reached a constable who was placing crime scene tape across the front gate of a neat row house. The constable must have been new because when he noticed them he stiffened and looked as if he was going to tell them to move along. Sally Donavan who had just exited the house interrupted the incipient interaction.

She muttered “Freak,” not quite under her breath followed by a grudging “Come on in you two, he’s holding the forensics boys back until you get done.”

Sherlock Holmes glanced at Donavan as he passed by her and commented, “Dumped Anderson I see. Smart move.”

“Dammit Holmes…” she sputtered at him.

John interrupted smoothly, “You started it,” as he, in turn, walked past.

Sally shut her mouth with a snap and the constable looked as if he was trying not to laugh. Yes, John thought, he was new.

They met Lestrade in the hall. He looked tired as usual and started in without preamble, “Victim, Johnathan Parker, aged 42. 999 call came in at 22:35 from his wife. She found him dead in his office. The wife was reading across the hall for most of the evening with the door open and didn’t hear anything. Door was locked. Only three known keys. One was in the victim’s pocket, the second on a hook in the bedroom and the last was in her purse. She used the one from her purse to unlock the door. Only people into the room have been the wife and the responding constable.” Lestrade lead the way down the hall. “Wife is in the Kitchen with a neighbor. Randall is on front duty.”

He opened the door to a cozy looking office. It squeaked loudly. There was a large desk with a computer, a small file cabinet, a small end table placed between a couple of comfortable looking chairs in front of a fully functional fireplace. The fireplace was one of the older ones complete with a full blown mantelpiece with a large landscape painting hung on the wall over its center. A once common feature in older houses such things were now most often bricked up and covered over in an attempt to obtain more wall space. The body was lying face down in the middle of the floor near the fireplace. It was clear from the doorway that the back of his head had been the recipient of a blunt instrument.

Sherlock hesitated only momentarily on the threshold then moved directly to the body. “John?” he asked softly.

John moved into the room and knelt by the body pulling a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and putting them on. “The obvious cause of death was a blunt instrument to the back of the neck. Probably killed him almost instantly judging by the lack of swelling.” He took a glance around the room eyes lighting on a modern sculpture sitting on the end table. It was a carved wooden spire attached to a base for stability. He gently touched the point of impact. “The base of that,” he nodded at the sculpture, “is about the right size and shape.”

“Hmm,” Sherlock was now looking quickly around the room. He walked up to the fireplace then turned and looked back at the body again. “You were correct to call me,” he remarked to Lestrade.

Sherlock turned back to examine the fireplace. After a moment he extracted a biro from his pocket and reached over the mantle toward the painting. Inserting the biro under one corner he pulled slightly sending the painting swinging out from the wall on a cleverly concealed hinge. Of course there was a small safe door nestled in a hole in the wall behind the painting. The safe door was slightly open and Sherlock again used the biro to nudge it fully open. Inside was a small pile of files topped with an open velvet lined box sat in the small cavity.

“You are going to need your Fae liason officer on this one Lestrade,” was Sherlock’s next comment.

“What?” Lestrade sounded a bit put off by that pronouncement. “You think our perpetrator is a Fae?”

“It’s obvious.”

“I’m going to need something more than just your bare word you know.”

Sherlock sighed and looked at John who was now peering into the safe. John could see that Sherlock wasn’t really annoyed by the question. He was just pausing for dramatic effect. John raised an eyebrow and gave him the go ahead explain it all to me look. A ghost of a smile flickered across Sherlock’s face and he started in.

“Our victim was originally at his desk when he was interrupted. Note the position of the chair. He got up, moved to the fireplace and opened the safe. He retrieved something from the box but did not close the box, the safe door or the painting completely. He placed,” Sherlock paused and peered a moment at the mantel, “the necklace on the mantle as you can see by the scuff marks in the dust then moved to roughly his current position.”

Sherlock was enjoying himself John could tell.

“He was forced to get on his knees. You can tell he was kneeling when he was hit due to the placement of his legs. He was hit with the sculpture. It would need to be quite a bit of force precisely applied to kill him that quickly. Now, why would someone use a bulky, unwieldy object like that sculpture when there is a perfectly good set of fireplace tools within close reach? The sculpture of course is wood while the poker is iron and Fae, with a few notable exceptions, tend to have bad reactions to iron and iron compounds.”

“You don’t have to be Fae to choose a wooden murder weapon,” Lestrade muttered while scribbling in a notebook. “Could have been the first thing to hand if the perpetrator was standing over there.”

“That doesn’t account for the kneeling, the fact that the fatal blow was struck on an upswing, the lack of noise, and how the perpetrator left the locked room without using the window or alerting the wife across the hall. The door, as you no doubt noticed, squeaks rather loudly.”

Lestrade made a sour face, “So tell me.”

“Kneeling victim with upswing blow of that accuracy and force indicates a small assailant with a disproportionate amount of strength for their size. This house dates from the Victorian era. In those days small children were often employed as chimney sweeps. Thus, I looked to see if the chimney could provide an exit for a small attacker. If you look closely you will observe that the ashes in the fireplace have been disturbed. Even better there is a very clear imprint of a small foot.” Sherlock pointed with the biro.

John walked over and peered into the fireplace with Lestrade right behind. Sure enough there was a distinct imprint of a foot in the ash near the back. John heard a mutter, “Just what I need tonight, a Fae murder suspect.”

“Approximately 3ft tall with extraordinary strength and a decent amount of glamour to be able to force a human to kneel,” Sherlock continued. “Now we need to talk to the wife about the necklace that he was willing to kill for.”

Sherlock started for the door and John glanced at Lestrade before he followed. Lestrade had a puzzled look on his face. “Wait a second, he?”

“Look at the scuff marks on the back wall of the fireplace. Even in the Fae the female generally has less upper body strength. There are no footmarks on the walls indicating that our perpetrator managed to get up onto the smoke shelf using arm strength alone.”

John smiled. Sherlock in full on deduction mode never failed to amaze him. “Amazing,” he said quietly enough so that only Sherlock heard him. He saw the familiar faint smile again on his friend’s face acknowledging the accolade.

Twenty minutes later they were on the way out of the house with Lestrade. John had managed to keep Sherlock from upsetting the wife, now widow, by the simple expedient of asking most of the pertinent questions himself and shooting a bit not good looks when Sherlock’s body language indicated that he was going to interject. As soon as they were out of the kitchen Sherlock had started up again.

“You will want to talk to Gregson about his string of jewelry thefts,” Sherlock commented to Lesstrade. “This has many of the same characteristics as the Batcher burglary he called me about last week. I didn’t deduce Fae involvement at the time, I had dismissed it as an extremely remote possibility. It’s always something.”

John was a bit surprised at that last. Sherlock rarely admitted to anyone other than him that he’d made an error in his deductions. That he’d do so out loud and in front of Lestrade meant that there was something about the whole situation was confusing him.

Lestrade seemed to realize it too. “Do you need a lift home?" he asked.

Sherlock shook his head somewhat distractedly, “We’ll get a cab.” He walked out toward the street then suddenly veered off and headed toward the side of the house. He stopped in the narrow gap between the house and the neighbor’s and looked up at the drainpipe. From the look on his face John could tell he wasn’t pleased with what he saw. “Nothing,” he muttered under his breath. He turned again and strode back toward the road. When he reached the pavement he looked over his shoulder and asked “Coming John?”

John started after Sherlock who was now heading down the pavement and glanced back at Lestrade. Lestrade shrugged and made a shooing motion with his hands. He caught up to Sherlock who had paused at the corner and asked “Where to?” Sherlock didn’t reply. He was too busy scanning the rooftops by the light of the full moon. He was clearly trying to work something out and John knew better than to attempt to interrupt further.

It was less than a minute until Sherlock took off again, leading John at a quick walk. The route took them over back garden fences and down alleys and appeared to be quite random. The only constant was that they were getting farther away from the crime scene. In addition, every so often Sherlock would stop and stand still for a moment looking at the rooftops. It usually didn’t take long for him to spot whatever he was looking for and take off again.

Half an hour later Sherlock led him into a dead end alley. After examining the wall of one of the buildings he let out the soft “ha” that told John he’d either found something or come to successful end of a chain of deductions. He turned, presumably to explain when John saw his eyes focus on something behind them at the mouth of the alley.

John whirled and immediately regretted the fact that he had not brought his Sig to the crime scene. The alley entrance was blocked by three large thugs the middle of which was holding a gun. John felt the familiar calm that seemed to be his normal mode in life or death situations settle over him. He took a moment to assess the situation. Thug 1, who was pointing the gun at them, had a passing familiarity with firearms but, judging by the way he was holding it, was not highly trained. The odds were favorable that he wasn’t a terribly good shot with the weapon. Thugs 2 and 3 were clearly veterans of numerous street fights and bar brawls. The question was how fast would they react to a move on Thug 1? With a bit of distraction he could rush Thug 1 and hopefully get the gun before being shot anywhere vital.

“Wha’d I tell ya’ blokes,” Thug 1 said conversationally to the other two, “Said we’d ‘ave a chance at ‘im didn’t ‘e?”

John used that opportunity to shift slightly, making sure that he was between Sherlock and the gun.

“Benjamin Grant,” Sherlock said softly from behind him, “small time drug dealer and fence. He was involved in a Thai gem scam the Yard dismantled after one of the principles was poisoned by both his wife and his mistress.”

“And she wouldn’t ‘ave been nabbed if some bugger of a druggie hadn’t tipped ‘em off to look for ‘er!”

Oh great, John thought to himself. A guy with a grudge from one of Sherlock’s early cases. He’d have to be careful because the idiot might just try and shoot Sherlock if John rushed him. John heard Sherlock take a breath to respond but in the same instant Thug 1 suddenly fell flat on his face due to the impact of a large canine shaped form. The gun, knocked loose by the impact, went skittering off into the shadows. The oversized dog whirled around keeping his not inconsiderable weight on Thug 1 and looked directly at Thugs 2 and 3. It very deliberately bared its teeth and let out a low rumbling growl. Faced with this new menace Thugs 2 and 3 took off running. Surprisingly the dog-like form didn’t pursue them. It simply turned back around, took a quick glance down at Thug 1 then looked up at John. It was at this point that John registered what exactly had rescued them and he knew that they were now in more danger than they had been mere seconds before being threatened at gunpoint.

“Sherlock,” he said quietly putting every ounce of command presence into his voice, “Don’t move and keep your eyes on the ground.” John hoped to all heavens that Sherlock would obey for once. At the same time John looked as closely as he could at the werewolf without staring or meeting the wolf’s gaze.

The wolf was on the small side. Its body language didn’t indicate it was feral or that its blood lust was up. In fact, as far as John could tell, it seemed to be relatively calm. That was good. It was hard to see in the limited light but he thought it was brown. What was really unique however was that it had long fur. John had never seen a long haired werewolf before.

He heard Sherlock inhale as if to speak and preemptively said, “Don’t Sherlock. Let me handle this.”

Here goes nothing, John thought and addressed the wolf directly. “I have zip ties in my pocket if you’d like me to secure him? You’ll need to move off him though.”

The wolf snorted at that and John could almost hear Sherlock roll his eyes. Despite the derisive noise the wolf politely backed off the prone thug. John slowly advanced and went to one knee. He checked for injuries first. Nothing major. The thug had been knocked out by the impact and was just beginning to come round. Reassured that he wouldn’t be adding to the man’s injuries, it was a simple matter to get the thug’s hands zip tied at the small of his back. Once that was done John looked up at the werewolf who was now standing just out of arms reach.

“Thanks for the rescue,” he started. “You better get out of here. I suspect the police are not far off since Sherlock has been texting in his pocket since the attack started.”

The wolf took a glance at Sherlock then and snorted again.

“As far as we are concerned,” John continued, “you weren’t here.”

“John,” Sherlock said his voice low and warning, “There’s another one.”

John looked up and saw another, larger wolf standing in the opening of the alley. This one was black with light colored eyes and a more standard coat length.

“Either of you,” John smoothly continued. “If anyone says anything or asks a couple of large dogs took exception to our attacker’s behavior.”

The long haired wolf made a sound that was suspiciously laugh like.

The black one looked up the street then made a low ruff sound presumably aimed at the long haired wolf.

The long haired wolf just glanced at him then returned his attention to John. He wagged his tail, cocked his head and took a half step in John’s direction.

The black wolf made another low ruff that John interpreted as either _let’s go_ or _get a move on it_.

The long haired wolf took another almost tentative half step in his direction and suddenly John knew what he wanted. John dropped his chin and cocked his head. That resulted in a clear shot at bared neck for the long haired wolf. Sure enough the wolf took two quick steps forward and put his nose right up near John’s neck. He inhaled sharply getting John’s scent. John knew that from now on this wolf would be able to identify him by scent alone. A nose touched his cheek momentarily then the wolf took off for the mouth of the alley and his companion. It was only several heartbeats later that they both were gone.

“What,” said Sherlock as soon as he was sure the wolves had departed, “were those?”

John thought for a moment. He was clearly going to have to explain a few things about both werewolves and his own family background to Sherlock but only when they were back safely back at Baker Street. What exactly to say that would keep him quiet until that time? John opted for the literal truth, “Canis Lupis Magus or Mutalis depending upon who’s taxonomy you use.”

“Werewolves John?” Sherlock’s tone was skeptical as he deciphered the Latin classification.

“Yep. I’ll fill you in later with what I know but for now just realize that they are even more secretive and volatile than the Fae. I won’t be able to keep them from killing you out of hand if you tip off the Yard about them.”

Sherlock said nothing to that as the sound of running feet and raised voices came from the street. It was only a moment later when Lestrade came pelting around the corner. “Sherlock! John! I got your text are you two alright?”

“Of course,” replied Sherlock. “John disarmed our attacker; his gun is over there under the bin. You’ll be able to hold him on an illegal weapons charge at the very least.”

“Just what I need tonight,” Lestrade grumbled, “more paperwork.”

Lestrade wasn’t kidding, it took another two hours to give all the necessary statements. Luckily, Lestrade had adjourned the proceedings to the relative comfort of the Yard where at least it was warm and something that somewhat resembled tea was available. It was very interesting for John watching Sherlock contain his curiosity while simultaneously omitting any reference to their lupine encounter. No one else seemed to notice that Sherlock was, for once, being highly cooperative and keeping his snide comments about competency to a bare minimum. He even refrained from disparaging Anderson and tweaking Donavan again about her recent change in relationship status.

It was 03:30 by the time they got back to Baker Street. John knew there was no chance in hell that he’d escape having what he had mentally labeled the werewolf discussion tonight. By the time they’d been dropped off at their front door Sherlock had been practically vibrating with repressed questions.

As they mounted the seventeen steps into their flat John decided to take the initiative. “Tea first followed by explanations,” he said firmly as they entered the flat.


	6. Werewolves are Political Animals

In London, due to the pervasive CCTV camera coverage, it was difficult if not impossible to avoid some sort of surveillance Bond noted to himself. The only thing that gave an agent any chance at all was the sheer volume of data. If someone was not actively using the feeds to follow, like Q had done with Silva during the Skyfall incident, locating a particular individual from the multitude of camera input required an astronomical amount of computing power. Using various clothing and accessories to allow one to blend into the seething mass of humanity that was the city at rush hour was the best you could do to attempt to fool someone with that type of access and capacity. In most cases it would be enough provided that one wasn’t already being tracked, had a physical tail or an electronic marker. If any of those were true, however, an agent would most likely have bigger problems than _big brother_ looking over his or her shoulder. With that clearly in mind James made sure that neither of the latter items applied and then proceeded to make it as difficult as possible for someone to track him using the CCTV. Obfuscation of his trail complete he carefully made his way a local pub named _The Wolf’s Head Inn_.

Thanks to Q’s scent masking concoction he managed to snag a seat at the bar before his status as a werewolf was noticed by the other wolves. Once the patrons had registered what he was the overall tenor of the room shifted from welcoming to watchful in a matter of moments. As he ordered his beer he observed the strategic movement of several patrons such that they could easily block the exits. James paid, collected his beer, and turned to assess the room. It didn’t take long. Two wolves were already in place to block the main entrance; one was moving to cover the hallway leading to the loo and the back door. The bar tender served to cover the emergency exit and his back up was seated at the other end of the bar. That didn’t even count the four other wolves he could smell currently among the patronage. It was clear that if things went badly he’d have difficulty getting out of the building. Luckily he didn’t have to worry because the gentleman he needed to see chose that very moment to come out of the back room of the pub.

Shaun McKellan was a medium sized man with black hair and a stocky build. He didn’t look like the stereotypical alpha male but he projected an air of competency that told even the non-werewolves that he was a person to be reckoned with. The alpha wolf of the Greater London Pack smiled broadly when he spotted James in his bar.

“James,” he exclaimed as he approached, “I’d heard you were back in town.”

James set his beer on the bar to shake Shaun’s hand and was pulled into a short back slapping man-hug. He used the opportunity to murmur “We need to talk privately.”

Shaun didn’t miss a beat as he released him from the hug. “Actually I’m glad you are here. I need an opinion on some new scotch I just got in. Small boutique distillery that my supplier wants me to start carrying. It’s a bit dear but might be worth it.”

“Sure, I’ll be happy to help,” James replied playing along.

“I’ve got it in the back. Come along.” Shaun turned and headed for the back room again. James snagged his beer off the bar top and followed.

Shaun McKellan was one of the few people that James Bond trusted unconditionally. That number could be counted on one hand with fingers left over. It all dated back years and two identities ago to the closing days of World War II when James had been separated from his unit in the Austrian Alps and savaged by a fleeing German werewolf. Shaun had been working as the British liaison to the Austrian pack when James had been found half dead on the mountain side. He’d talked James through his first shift and helped him find accommodation with his wolf. Through the course of the war they’d saved each other’s lives enough times that they’d stopped even trying to keep count.

They ended up in the office Shaun used to conduct the bar’s business transactions. It was a relatively small but well-appointed room with a decorative waterfall built into one corner. Before speaking Shaun turned on the waterfall which served to mask any conversation from inside the office being overheard outside, even by sharp eared wolves. Once it was fully running he turned and asked “What the hell James! Why is it the first I hear you are back in town is from reports that you are running all over my territory with some long haired wolf?”

“I was actually coming to talk to you about that,” James replied evenly, “however, I’m a bit curious as to how that bit of news managed to get here before me.”

Shaun sat on the corner of his desk and James took that as an invitation to use one of the visitor chairs. “I had an unexpected visit this morning from an army mate of my second. John acts as our pack doctor on the rare occasion when we have something that our medics can’t handle. He wanted me to pass on his thanks for a timely rescue of himself and his flat mate. They seemed to have been cornered by some criminals and were assisted by a medium sized long haired brown wolf and a large black wolf with light colored eyes.”

“So much for being able to tell you myself,” James grumbled

“Oh, and it gets even better,” Shaun’s tone was sarcastic. “He brought his flat mate along to meet me. Do you know who he is? He’s that consulting detective who took a swan dive off the top of St. Barts here almost three years ago then showed up alive after having taken down the criminal gang that framed him.”

“Sherlock Holmes?” James supplied the name.

“That’s him. He was apparently aware of our existence but thought we were some type of shape-shifting Fae up until your little encounter last night. The man’s a flipping genius. He managed to get within a decade of my real age based upon how I drink from a glass!”

“Is he going to be a problem?”

Shaun looked at James, thoughtfully considering the unspoken offer. “No, I don’t think so” he finally replied. “I did some research. He works mostly with the Yard but does take private clients. He’s even worked for the government a time or two given references in John’s blog to the official secrets act. He knows how to keep things under wraps. Besides John’s got a good handle on him. You wouldn’t think to look at them but John is the more dominant one in that particular relationship.” Shaun paused for a moment, “So who was your companion last night and why isn’t he sitting here with you?”

“That’s part of what I need your help with. He’s a coworker. He was attacked and turned. Unfortunately his name and title are classified.”

“More classified than my war clearance would have allowed me to see?”

“Quite a bit so. I’m violating security protocols by even telling you that he exists.”

Shaun digested that then asked, “How long?”

“Four moons.”

“Bloody hell James! What are you thinking taking a new wolf out on to the streets like that?”

“That he was ready,” James answered what Shaun clearly had intended as a rhetorical question.

“Really?”

“Yes. Really. His shift time is under fifteen minutes and if he keeps getting better at the same rate he’ll be in single digits by the end of the year. His first shift was within a week of being infected and he came out of it as integrated as I am if not more so.”

“Submissive?”

“Nope. Dominant enough so that he is able to ignore me sometimes. Physically I could take him but I’ve not tried to assert my dominance fully,” James admitted. “I haven’t had to. He is the closest thing to being a mellow werewolf as I’ve ever seen.”

“Interesting. So, do you have any idea about what to do with him?”

“I’m not sure,” James prevaricated. “He can’t act as a lone wolf yet. Due to his position and work there’s no way he can come under your jurisdiction. This is a unique situation.”

“You can say that again. Normally I’d dump this on the Master of the Isles but he’s not going to be able to deal with this for at least a few months if not more.” Shaun grimaced, “There’s no way we can leave him in limbo like that. Not right now. It will be too dangerous.”

James was surprised. Leaving a wolf outside the pack structure usually was no big deal as long as all the relevant parties were informed and consented. In fact, like most organizations it often took a while for the official notices to catch up with the situation on the ground. Thus it was not uncommon for a wolf to be in another pack’s territory for three or four months before being officially recognized as part of the pack or being granted lone wolf status. He raised his eyebrow in query.

Shaun didn’t take the hint. Instead he asked, “You are the only other wolf with a high level security clearance that you know about right?”

“Yes. There may be some in the military or elsewhere in the government but I’ve not run into any.”

“I’ve not heard of any either. It would be awfully hard to hide at that level anywhere but the intelligence services.” Shaun looked thoughtful. “Maybe” he murmured half to himself then suddenly asked “You don’t need a set territory to keep stable do you?”

James thought for a moment, “Never have. Must be genetic. Orbis non-sufficit is the family motto after all,” he remarked trying to determine where Shaun was going with this. It suddenly dawned on him. “Oh no. You are thinking of getting me official alpha status!”

“Damn straight,” Shaun grinned at him. “You can take all the folks in the security services or the military.”

“Wonderful,” James grumbled sarcastically, “Just what I always wanted, to be an alpha of my own pack.”

Shaun grinned even more, “James you’ve always been an alpha. Your pack just hasn’t had any wolves in it until now!”

James had to acknowledge the truth of that statement. The way he interacted with the other 00’s and the executive staff at MI6 was very much classic alpha behavior. He just hadn’t mentally labeled it that way before.

“I’ll start the process. Just make sure you formalize things with your classified coworker,” Shaun continued. “Oh, and give him my contact information just in case.”

James gave a short nod indicating his assent all the while thinking furiously. Shaun had just obliquely implied again that an unattached wolf was going to be in some sort of danger. Well, James thought if he was going to be an acting pack alpha he’d better find out what Shaun was concerned about so he could protect his pack even if it did consist of only one wolf. Shaun tended to be a rather straight forward person so James decided on a direct approach. “So, what’s going on that makes it so dangerous for pack-less wolves?”

“In short, politics and public relations.”

“OK, so what’s the long version?” James tried to keep his tone light.

Shaun dropped his voice even lower than it had been, “You know about _the Marrok_ don’t you?”

“Top alpha in the states. He’s located somewhere in Montana. Has a couple enforcers the most recognizable of which is a large Native-American fellow. Goes by Charles if I recall correctly.” James knew a bit more than that, mostly from other contacts in the wolf community. Charles was allegedly the Marrok’s son. James had talked to a couple of people who had met him and seen him fight. The man was well trained, quick and deadly. The Marrok himself was allegedly Welsh in origin. Regardless of whether that was true he, by all reports, spoke the language fluently. He was also quite old. No one James had talked to knew for sure but he was supposedly as old or even older than the Spanish wolf known as _The Moor_ who’d been around since the early Middle Ages. Even the insane leader of the French wolves, _The Beast of Gevaudan_ Jean Chastell, was allegedly afraid to cross him directly.

“Um hum, that’s him. Well he’s decided to bring the North American wolves out of the closet like the Fae did 10 years ago. His reasoning seems to be that the information age with all the CCTV and other surveillance is going to reveal us all eventually so we might as well control the message. Anyway, when they do it in the U.S. it’s going to automatically out everyone else worldwide.”

“That’s going to make my job more interesting,” James commented wryly. “And you were going to bother to tell me this when?”

“You were the first person I was going to tell when I had permission to do so. Arthur, as Master of the Isles, restricted the knowledge to alphas. Since you are now a de-facto alpha I can tell you.”

James snorted, “The Fae are clearly not the only preternaturals prone to the exploitation of loopholes.”

“You are a fine one to talk. I know you’ve not changed that much from the guy who wasn’t supposed to engage the enemy while on recon.”

“It wasn’t my fault that they triggered an avalanche,” James protested half-heartedly.

Shaun smiled at him, “Anyway, Arthur had already come to a similar conclusion and is working with a contact in the government on the best way to handle things here. He’s going state-side next month for a meeting with the Marrok and representatives from the other European packs. If I had to make a guess he’s going to see what the timing and strategy is and then adjust his plans accordingly.”

“That government contact, he’s got a wolf on the inside?”

“Nope. Arthur told me he’s a minor bureaucrat with lots of contacts. He may not make the decisions but he knows who does and how to talk to them.”

“Useful.”

“Very. Now to answer your original question not all the alphas are real pleased with this _coming out_ idea. In fact a couple of ‘em in the midlands are downright opposed. It means change. There will be less leeway for marginal behavior and the alphas are going to have to manage it all. Even the lone wolves are going to be under more scrutiny whether or not they come out or remain hidden. I’ve also been hearing rumblings that some alphas are allegedly going to try and _upsize_ or consolidate packs. All in all there’s going to be a period of upheaval and political power shifts. A new wolf would be a prize worth taking.”

“How are you positioned?”

“You know me, I’m inherently lazy.”

James snorted under his breath. Shaun, of course, was one of the least indolent persons James had ever known.

“The smoother the transition the better as far as I’m concerned. I don’t think anyone is going to challenge me for London at least not initially.”

James paused and thought for a moment. The next bit would be tricky. He didn’t want to insult Shaun by implying he would need assistance. He also didn’t want to expose Q. However, he did want to let Shaun know that he had more resources than he’d had before. “You know if there’s anything in my line that might help I can always call in a few favors,” he offered.

Shaun didn’t look offended, “Thanks. I hope I won’t have to take you up on that offer. Whatever happens I think we are in for a bout of that ancient Chinese curse.”

“Well from what you’ve just told me when this hits the press it’s going to be _interesting times_ indeed. Can you imagine the tabloid headlines?”

Shaun chuckled then stood and extracted a bottle of scotch from an open box on his desk. He then grabbed a couple of glasses from a display shelf on the wall. “I wasn’t kidding about the scotch,” he said as he poured.

James looked at the amber liquid in the glass he was handed. He sniffed and sampled. Not bad. “Tastes a little young,” was all he got out when his phone vibrated in his pocket. That was interesting. He’d left his work mobile in his flat and was only carrying his personal mobile. In addition, one of the precautions he’d taken on the way over was to turn the phone completely off. He’d previously had the GPS location permanently removed from this mobile courtesy of a bright young Q branch staffer he’d bribed with…damn and blast. Mentally cursing Q for outsmarting him, he snatched the mobile out of his pocket and looked at the incoming number. It was blank.

He glanced at Shaun who made a _go ahead_ motion with his hand. “Bond,” he snarled as he answered.

“Touchy,” Q’s voice was slightly off. “I thought you were going out for a pint. Drinking is normally something one does to unwind. You sound awfully tense.”

Bugger, Q knew where he was. “Quentin,” Bond used Q’s general purpose aliases and tried to sound exasperated. Hopefully the genius would pick up that at least James’ end of the conversation could be overheard.

“Sorry James,” Q’s voice now sounded a little shaky, “but I’ve got a bit of a problem and you’re the only friend I’ve got that has even half a chance of helping me sort it.”

Knowing Q’s normal demeanor on the coms Bond suspected he was acting for the benefit of any werewolves present. Q knew from dealing with Bond’s equipment that werewolf hearing made any call an automatic conference call and he was being careful. “How urgent is it?” he asked trying to sound concerned.

“Well, I suppose it could wait a bit.” Q dithered.

Bond interpreted that as _get your ass in here ASAP_. “Calm down Quentin,” Bond tried to sound like he was soothing a jittery friend, “I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“I’m at my office,” Q clarified.

“I’m on my way,” Bond said and rang off. He looked at Shaun who was grinning at him.

“See, I told you that you already had a pack!” he said. “He sounds awfully young. Go rescue your cub James.”


	7. Not Just Another Day At The Office

Looking back later Q could tell just when the day started to go to hell in a hand basket. He’d arrived in the morning to find that the threat level had been raised due to a marked increase in chatter about and between various terrorist organizations. The analysts’ had opined that this seemed to be some sort of reorganization caused by shifting alliances among and between groups. Just what had caused such major shuffling was unknown but everyone needed to be alert for potential attacks none the less.

002 was on assignment in Russia infiltrating a nuclear fuel storage facility. He was checking up on an IAEA report about discrepancies in the materials logs. Normally such thing wouldn’t have been a 00 caliber mission but 002 was already positioned as the result of a previous operation so M gave the go ahead.

Q had been about to walk out of the coms room when things started to go tits up. He glanced at Mattie and noted a puzzled look on her face.

“While it is technically experimental 002 it shouldn’t lose its calibration,” R was saying.

Q presumed that they were talking about the highly sensitive miniature radiation detector that they had managed to smuggle in to 002 day before yesterday. They had thought it might be useful to have an accurate way to measure radiation just in case the on-site detectors were either faulty or had been tampered with. Q reversed directions, grabbed a headset and linked himself in via one of the secondary computers.

“It’s certainly reading quite a bit less than the last containment area,” 002 sounded puzzled.

Q looked at the map to determine location and then cross referenced with the manifests provided by the IAEA. It was supposed to be a storage area for slightly enriched uranium. Originally this material would have been further refined into nuclear reactor fuel. This particular batch, however, had been labeled as low quality and thus was destined for use in a few heavy water reactors. It would only be further refined as a last resort. No one it seemed had been terribly concerned about it because there was, after all, weapons grade material stored elsewhere in the complex.

R was looking at the readings from the device, “It seemed to be OK in the last room, well within the normal range for the type of material and the storage containers used. You are correct though, it’s definitely reading less in this room.”

Q was getting a bad feeling about this. He started hacking into the Russian facility’s records to see if he could find anything about this particular bit of material. He tuned out R and 002 who were running a quick diagnostic on the detector. Ah, there it was. This was material that had previously been stored in the Ukraine and had been moved hastily when the Soviet Union started disbanding. He took a quick scroll down the transfer records and almost missed it, a two day gap where the shipment didn’t move. The official reason was a change in crew due to radiation exposure but the exposure levels shouldn’t have been that high unless...hmmm.  
“How do we know what’s really in those containment vessels?” Q interrupted the ongoing conversation.

“I suppose I could have a look,” 002 replied. A couple minutes later he grunted and said “I don’t think low level nuclear material is supposed to look like construction debris. Radioactive debris, but I can see nails, wood, metal flashings and dry wall.”

“What?!” both R and Q chorused together.

“That explains the difference in the readings,” 002 continued seemingly unperturbed by the outburst. “Hello Q,” he added as an afterthought.

“002 can you get to…” Q started to ask when he realized he was looking at a security alert currently being circulated to all the computers in the facility, “Damn. You need to get out of there. Your cover’s been blown and the alarm should be…” there was an obnoxious whooping as background noise on the coms, “…sounding. I’ll see if I can hold off the automatic lockdown for a bit.”

“Moving,” said 002 matching action to words as he took off out of the containment room and down the hallway.

R’s voice was calm, “Security unit coming at you from your 3 in 90 seconds. There’s another group on your 6 about a minute behind.”

R had linked into the facility’s security cameras and was switching between them furiously attempting to track all the potential hostiles. At the same time Q had managed to gain control of the blast doors which were supposed to close and lock down in case of a security breach. He could now hold them open or close them off but he’d have to be careful. Once closed he wouldn’t be able to reopen them without the “all clear” signal being given which would unlock all the doors at once.

Now that they had options R reopened the channel, “Take the next right.”

“No can do,” 002 responded, “blast door.”

“Bloody cheap sensors,” Q muttered. The security system was showing that door as open. He took a glance at the facility layout map with R’s notations on security team locations.

“Second left, then first right. There’s a locked office you can use to get the security goons off your tail,” R directed.

002 took off again at a run. “By the way,” 002 said in a low voice, “have I ever expressed my admiration for the electronic lock override?”

“No,” R replied. There was a sudden thunk, audible even over the coms, as the office door surrendered to the ministrations of the device.

“Consider it expressed. I’m in and secure. Anything you want while I’m in here?”

“No thank you 002,” Q chimed in. “I suspect that anything I can’t get from their servers will be hidden in reams and reams of hard copy.”

“Guards just ran past,” 002 reported. “So what’s the best way out?”

Q glanced over at R’s and her screens. She grimaced at him. None of the options were terribly good. Most of the paths to the exits required taking down at least one if not two heavily armed security unit unless…Q decided he’d better take over on the coms.

“Well, the fastest way out is through a hot zone. It does have the appeal of being less messy. In addition I’ll be able to lock a good portion of the security force inside the complex.”

“What’s the down side?” 002 asked.

“With luck a minor bout of acute radiation syndrome and a 10% long term cancer risk increase.” Q had been calculating the potential exposure amount in his head while cross referencing MI6’s medical database for the common short term and long term effects of excess radiation exposure.

002 chuckled, “Like cancer is going to be a problem. I fully expect to have an acute case lead poisoning long before that!”

Taking 002’s comment as permission R proceeded to guide him out of the complex while Q worked on locking everyone possible inside the facility. Once that was done he scrambled a medical unit, complete with a doctor and supplies to deal with the ARS, to join up with the extraction team as soon as they exfiltrated Russian territory.

Two and a half hours later 002 was safe in the hands of the medical team and on his way back home. Q had intentionally remained on the coms until the medical team had finished their assessment and started treatment. Luckily, 002 hadn’t received as much radiation as Q had anticipated. The miniature radiation detector had proved its worth by recording exactly how much exposure which in turn allowed the doctors to custom tailor a plan of action even before 002 reached them.

Q had just barely cleared the coms room door when he was faced with his next crisis. Moneypenny was in the branch and she was frustrated.

“What do you mean he’s not there?” She was looking over one of his tech’s shoulder at a tracking screen. “We remotely turned his mobile on and it’s there!”

The tech replied calmly, “The security system was armed at 16:07 to “away”. I suspect he left it in the flat.

“Damn it!” Moneypenny swore, “The man doesn’t even bother to stay on the grid when he’s home.”

It was at this point that Q realized that Moneypenny was attempting to locate 007 and had come down to Q branch when her initial efforts had been unsuccessful.

“Might I be of assistance Ms. Moneypenny?” Q asked causing both her and the tech to start in surprise. He hadn’t thought he’d moved all that quietly but this wasn’t the first time he’d startled his staff in the last few weeks. What was really surprising was that he’d been able to startle Moneypenny who, even though she was officially a desk jockey, still retained an agent’s hyper alertness and hair trigger reflexes. Maybe he needed to wear a bell.

“M wants James in here ASAP,” Moneypenny started in without preamble. “003 has a line on a potential _high value_ weapons auction and we need to reactivate one of 007’s old covers to get him into the bidding. It may be nothing but he’ll need to be briefed and ready to move the moment 003 gets us the specifics.”

“Which cover?”

“Brandon James, former arms broker for various African warlords.”

The tech had been typing as Moneypenny spoke. “That one has been unused for the last couple years. Minimal upkeep performed,” he reported.

“It’s going to take a bit of time then,” Q told Moneypenny then turning to the tech said “Pull the information and get started with the documents first. Give me a list of possible legends which will fit the upkeep actions and explain why he was out of active circulation. I want it on my desk in an hour.”

Moneypenny’s eyebrows went up apparently surprised at his ordered deadline but she didn’t say anything.

“In the meantime,” Q continued, “I’ll see if I can locate our wayward 00. It’s probably a simple case of wine, women and song or some combination thereof.”

“A little early for that don’t you think?” Moneypenny seemed doubtful.

Q shrugged, “It’s Bond. If anyone can find such things on a Monday afternoon he can. I’ll give you a call when I locate him with an ETA.”

“I’ll be at my desk,” she replied.

Q watched her go, high heels clicking on the smooth tile floor. A stray thought crossed his mind about turning those heels into some sort of weapon. Throwing knives perhaps? He gave his head a little shake to clear it. Focus Q, he thought to himself. Now what’s the fastest way to locate Bond? It would be simple if he had his mobile on him…

Q headed for his office. Several weeks ago Bond had bribed one of the techs to disable the GPS on his personal mobile. Of course the tech had told Q who had taken the opportunity to install not only a remote activation feature but also the ability to give a return ping to the cell towers in response to a coded signal even if the unit was off with the battery removed. He’d only done it as a precaution. If any 00 was going to get jumped on their home turf it would be James. Q also knew that London was the only place where 007 would carry a personal mobile as opposed to the MI6 issued version which, if his minion was correct, was currently locked in Bond’s flat. Now was a good time as any to test the modifications. It was only a matter of minutes before Q got a response to his coded signal. A quick triangulation between the cell towers that had received the ping put Bond in a pub called _The Wolf’s Head Inn_.

Q grimaced. James had said there was a pack in London and that after their little interaction late Friday night he’d need to talk to the alpha or leader of that pack to let him know what was up. It couldn’t be that obvious. Why not put up a great big sign saying _werewolves congregate here_. Then again, Q thought, it might not be as dumb as one might think. How many pubs were there in greater London with some lupine reference in the title? There was something to be said about hiding in plain sight. As his middle brother was wont to say, _people see but they do not observe_.

The strength of the ping he had received back told him that the battery was in and mostly charged. A few keystrokes and Q had the mobile turned on. This was going to be tricky. If it was indeed a pub full of wolves Q would need to assume that everyone could hear his end of the conversation. He’d have to be careful to get Bond to come in without blowing whatever cover he was using. Even if the cover remained intact Q knew that Bond was going to be seriously annoyed about the additions to his mobile. He dialed the number.

“Bond,” James answered on the fourth ring with a snarl.

Uh oh. “Touchy,” was the first thing out of Q’s mouth. He winced. Not a good start. “I thought you were going out for a pint. Drinking is normally something one does to unwind. You sound awfully tense.” Q tried to pitch his voice higher and sound uncertain. He was hoping that to anyone listening in that he sounded like a co-worker calling to ask for a favor of some sort.

“Quentin,” Bond sounding exasperated, used the most common of Q’s aliases.

Yep. James was in a situation where both ends of the conversation could be heard. Q put a little more uncertainty and a touch of fear into his voice, “Sorry James but I’ve got a bit of a problem and you’re the only friend I’ve got that has even half a chance of helping me sort it.”

“How urgent is it?” Bond’s voice sounded concerned but with a reassuring note to it.

“Well, I suppose it could wait a bit.” Q dithered trying to sound like he was in a quasi-panic.

“Calm down Quentin. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“I’m at my office,” Q clarified for any lupine listeners putting a touch of relief into his voice.

“I’m on my way,” Bond said and rang off.

Q estimated it would take 45 minutes or so for Bond to get across town. A bit more if he stopped by his flat on the way to swap out mobiles. Q called Moneypenny and told her that James would be arriving in under an hour.

Since there was nothing that specifically needed his attention at the moment Q decided to pull out a design for a miniaturized explosive device. Something that you could slip into an enclosed space like a car’s petrol tank then remotely detonate. Of course he’d no sooner pulled the specs out when one of the branch agents reported directly in.

This agent had been assigned to infiltrate The Crimson Lotus an upscale executive spa that actually was a brothel. In addition, it allegedly was the front for a major drug trafficking operation. There were also indications that other things besides drugs were routed to and from the location. Unfortunately the agent’s cover didn’t allow him access to the areas of the building where the records were presumably kept. To make matters worse the security was top notch and the entire complex was not connected to the internet in any way shape or form to ensure the members’ privacy. The whole thing was a bloody Faraday cage and there were only a few areas where you could get a mobile signal. A quick peruse of the report indicated that the only way in was going to be to insert an agent as either a customer or a service provider. The agent apparently thought so too and had helpfully included information on obtaining membership as well as a list of current job openings as an addendum to his report. That was well done and Q made a mental note to recommend this particular agent for more complex assignments in the future.

Q paused as he looked over the information. Given the amount of scrutiny a new member was subjected to the fastest way in was going to be as an employee. The nature of the business meant that the best option would be a specialized employee that would cater to a specific high end clientele. A bit of research on agents and skill sets gave Q the answer he needed. 004, who happened to be in transit through Southeast Asia, was diverted followed by an all hands scramble to backstop her cover and attempt to locate high quality dominatrix gear at 22:30 local in Mumbai.

Of course the next potential disaster hit just as Q was looking over the suggestions for 007’s Brandon James cover. A muttered Serbian expletive from what was unofficially known as the “hacker’s corner” in the bullpen caught his attention. Larry “Ranger” Gill was typing furiously and cursing under his breath in a variety of languages. The computer specialists, like most of Q branch, took immense pride in being multilingual when it came to swears. This lead to some amusing combinations of invective the most inventive of which ended up posted to a list prominently displayed in the break room.

Q realized that there was a serious problem when he heard Ranger say, “Angela, some help here!”

Since by this time it was technically swing shift there were only three computer specialists on duty. Ranger and Angela were the only two in the branch at the moment since Max had gone to assist the normal IT department with some server upgrades. Q took a look at what the two were dealing with and winced. It was a multiple point hack, most likely coordinated from the look of it. Due to the server upgrades they were down a good bit of processing power so back tracing the source was not an option. About all that could be done was to fight off the attack and see how fast they could get the other servers back on line. Q jumped into the fray with a few keystrokes and with his other hand texted Max to have him put as many of the servers back on line as quickly as possible. It took Q and the two computer specialists an hour to derail the hack and isolate the Trojan that it left in its wake. By the end of it Q was feeling tired and drained. Luckily there was only 007’s cover to finish before he could pack it in for the day.

Q grabbed his mug of now tepid tea and almost dropped it. His fingers felt stiff and fat making his grip clumsy. It didn’t help that he also seemed to have a low grade itch that was working its way up his forearms toward his shoulders. Q noted to himself that it felt very similar to the sensation right before a full moon shift. That thought galvanized Q into action.

“Ranger call R,” he ordered. “Tell her she has the con.”

The tingling was getting worse now. He knew his behavior was abrupt and atypical however it didn’t matter what the rest of the branch thought, for their safety he needed to get out of the common areas and locked down. He didn’t even bother to grab his mobile but took off for his personal lab as fast as he could without running. It was close. Q managed to get in, door locked and shoes off before the change took him. His last coherent thought was that James had been correct, busting out of clothes while shifting was painful.

When he came back to himself he found that he was curled up behind a set of boxes that he had stored under his lab bench. It took a moment before he could determine what had disturbed him. The door lock had disengaged. For safety’s sake there were only two people who could override the level of security Q had enabled before shifting, one was Bond and the other was Moneypenny. He heard the lock reengage. He took a sniff, James.

“Q?” James’ voice was low but commanding.

Q scrambled to his feet and edged out from behind the boxes. He felt shaky even with four feet to balance on. It also didn’t help that he felt ashamed that he’d lost control enough to not only shift but also be completely submerged in the wolf part of himself. By the time he had extricated himself from under the lab bench James had sat down on the floor next to the door. A covered bowl was on the floor next to him. Not knowing quite what to do Q just stood there and looked at him.

“Come here,” once again it was a soft command.

Q complied walking slowly up to where James sat. He could tell his ears were drooping and his tail seemed to have a mind of its own. It was attempting to tuck itself down between his hind legs making it difficult to walk. When he was within arm’s reach James suddenly grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. Q found himself unceremoniously hauled into James’ lap. Much to his surprise this manhandling caused his body to go limp in an instinctive reaction.

“It’s O.K. Q,” James soothed using one hand to keep a grip on his neck while the other caressed his flank. “Stress and hunger together will sometimes force a change in new wolves. That’s why it’s important to keep well fed regardless. R told me that you hadn’t eaten since you extricated 002 from that Russian facility.”

Q was surprised at that but was in no condition to react as he lay quiescent in James’ lap. An indeterminate time later James hand on his neck stopped being a hold and became more of a rub. Soon after that James reached for the bowl knocking its cover askew one handed. A piece of meat was held in front of Q’s nose.

“Eat Q,” came the gentle order.

Q ate. James fed him piece by piece, until the bowl was empty. It should have been embarrassing but Q found it oddly comforting. At the same time James was murmuring nonsense into his ears while stroking his back. Somehow the scent, voice and physical contact created a palpable feeling of security. Sated and safe Q closed his eyes and slept, content in his alpha’s arms.


	8. Uninvited Guests

“So John,” Sherlock asked from his position prone on the couch one morning, “how exactly did you learn about werewolves?”

There it was. John had been waiting for that question to be asked for over a month now. In fact, he was still rather surprised that Sherlock hadn’t asked it the first night when they’d returned to 221b after being rescued by the pair of werewolves. John had made tea and expected to be subjected to the full force of Sherlock’s intellect. Instead Sherlock had merely asked John to give him the minimum that he needed to know to avoid being killed out of hand.

John had, at the time, been happy to provide that information. Since he knew Sherlock was at least passingly familiar with the Fae he had couched it in those terms. “Treat werewolves as extremely grumpy Fae with a hair trigger and built in lie detector,” he’d told his flat mate. “Don’t meet their eyes for more than three seconds without dropping your gaze and whatever you do keep your deductions to yourself!” Sherlock had asked a few follow up questions and then retreated into his thoughts leaving John to find his way to bed. The next two days had a similar theme of interaction. Sherlock would ask a question, obtain clarification on one point or another, then sit in his chair with his hands steepled in front of his face for an hour or so. Rinse and repeat.

It had been the Monday after, in the morning, when Sherlock had asked “Are you going to introduce me?”

In fact John had been planning to visit the London pack Alpha that day as Sherlock had no doubt deduced. He knew that Sherlock would most likely follow him regardless of the answer and reluctantly had agreed to take him along. It didn’t turn out to be the quasi-disaster that John had envisioned. The alpha, Mr. McKellan, knew quite a bit about Sherlock from the media, John’s website, and from one of his wolves who worked for the MET. Sherlock on his side had been on his best behavior dusting off his seldom used social graces as well as following John’s rules for dealing with a pack alpha which had been hastily imparted before they left the flat.

John had almost had a heart attack though when Shaun challenged Sherlock to deduce him. Sherlock had complied by giving a list of all Shaun’s occupations both recent and past as well as, judging from the surprised look, coming very close to guessing his actual age. John had been considering stepping on Sherlock’s foot to make him stop when Sherlock’s phone had gone off.

Sherlock’s face had lit up at the text and he exclaimed, “John! Molly’s going to give me a hand.” He flashed John his real smile not the quasi-fake one he used when he had to be polite then added, “and maybe a couple of feet but I need to go pick them up right now!” With that he’d jumped up and headed for the door.

John for a moment had forgotten where he was and hollered after him “If I find toes in the bread box again the whole lot is going to get binned!”

Luckily Shaun was more amused than insulted and merely remarked “and I thought mine had strange hobbies.”

The next five weeks had been interesting to say the least. John never quite knew when Sherlock would fire another set of werewolf related questions at him. As far as John could tell the only correlation between one line of questioning and the next was the underlying subject matter. Over the course of the month they’d manage to cover most of John’s knowledge, unfortunately now they’d come to the question John was going to have to be very careful about answering.

“You could say I grew up knowing about them,” he replied.

Sherlock’s eyebrow twitched. He clearly hadn’t expected that response.

“My grandmother,” John continued, “told me stories about the supernatural creatures that lived among us. Unbeknownst to me she wasn’t just spinning tales. When the Fae came out I discovered that she’d had dealings with them for years acting as their agent in human society. One of my aunts took up the mantle when grandma passed on and a distant cousin of mine is currently the human liaison for the Aberdeen enclave.”

“And?”

“I hadn’t thought much about the stories until one of my clinic rotations. I guess it was a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Sherlock was beginning to look a little frustrated at all the extraneous information John’s narrative so he hastily continued. “I’d been finishing up the last little bit of paperwork at the end of the shift when one of the clinic physicians came in accompanied by what I thought at the time were two construction workers carrying a severely wounded third. I was pressed into service to help although at first I couldn’t figure out why they hadn’t called 999 or gone to the A&E. Given the precautions I was directed to take, the accelerated healing, and a bit of discussion that I suspect I wasn’t supposed to overhear I suddenly was confronted with the fact that my grandma’s other stories were true as well.”

“Interesting,” Sherlock sat up. “Do you know why you were pressed into service rather than summarily dealt with? The level of secrecy in the lupine community would logically dictate the removal of potential threats.”

“I suspect it was the fact that Dr. Nielson vouched for me. I found out later that she had been at university with one of my aunts.”

“And that started your connection with the London pack?”

“No, that came later.”

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John had to smile at the reference, “Both. There were a few wolves and some part-Fae in the special forces units. My name and location was passed by word of mouth and every now and again I’d end up treating someone who was not fully human.”

“The bartender?”

John had to think for a moment then he remembered who exactly had been in the Wolf’s Head the day they’d visited. “Yes. David. An IED put a load of shrapnel in his leg. God only knows what the insurgents used in it but clearly part of the payload was sliver or laced with silver nitrate. By the time he got to me I had to work fast to save him and protect his secrets. Long story short, when he heard I was out he got in touch and introduced me to Shaun.”

Sherlock rested his elbows on his knees and put his chin on top of his now folded hands. He looked slightly annoyed. “Why didn’t I see this sooner?” he muttered under his breath.

John decided that an answer was in order. Without one Sherlock would probably sulk for several days attempting to find the flaws in his deductive prowess. “While I may not be in your league I do have some acting ability and I’m not needed all that often.”

“Ah,” Sherlock looked brighter again. “The late patients with complications.”

“Uh huh,” John confirmed.

Just then Sherlock’s phone buzzed. He picked it up from the coffee table. “Gregson has recovered a copy of one of the stolen pieces of jewelry. He wants me to look at the evidence and the interrogation tape of the fence who had it.”

“Never fails,” John commented wryly. “We’ve not made any progress on the stolen jewelry in over a month and of course it starts up again when I’ve got an afternoon shift at the clinic.”

“Odds are that it’s just an enterprising forger attempting to make a profit. I’ve been expecting something like this since word got out that a certain necklace had been stolen,” Sherlock rose to his feet and headed for the bathroom. “I’ll text if it’s anything interesting.”

Sherlock was dressed and out in ten minutes. Less than five minutes after that Mycroft Holmes walked into the flat as if he owned it.

John looked up at him in annoyance. “You just missed him.”

“I’m well aware,” came the response in Mycroft’s carefully cultured neutral voice as he crossed the room. He gingerly sat in Sherlock’s chair, propping his omnipresent umbrella against the arm. “I wished to speak to you without my brother being present.”

John just looked at him. He had learned that it wasn’t effective to attempt to hurry a Holmes when said Holmes didn’t want to be hurried. Mycroft would get to the point eventually.

“Just what, may I ask, were you thinking when you introduced my brother to your associates who frequent the Wolf’s Head Inn? Given his propensities that was a very ill advised course of action.” His voice oozed disapproval.

John wasn’t terribly surprised that Mycroft knew about werewolves. The man was to all intents and purposes the British government with access to the highest levels of security and multitudes of CCTV cameras. Of course he knew all about werewolves.

“Ill advised?” John snorted. “That’s a bit much from the man who practically handed his brother on a silver platter to that psychopathic half-Fae Moriarity which ended up in his having to play dead for several years!”

“Point. Never the less I would have preferred that Sherlock had not been exposed to the knowledge of the lupine community prematurely.”

“Not like I could stop it when our attackers of last month were taken down by a werewolf.”

There was a flash of something in Mycroft’s face that John interpreted as surprise. Interesting. Mycroft’s cameras had clearly not captured the fight in the alley.

“Well that explains the ‘ruddy big dog’ reference by Mr. Grant’s compatriot,” Mycroft said half to himself.

“You know quite well he wasn’t going to leave it alone. It was safer this way.” John put up a hand to forestall Mycroft’s inevitable riposte. “I don’t really see why you are so concerned. Sherlock deals quite successfully with the Fae community. This is not that much different.”

“Interactions with the Fae work on a series of rituals and compacts. Logical when you know the rules. The wolves tend to be a lot more physical; volatile, unpredictable.”

Translation, thought John, Mycroft doesn’t have many favors or other pressure points to apply to the Greater London Pack.

“Not as unpredictable as you might think,” John stated in reply then suddenly it hit him. The inordinate level of concern. The overly careful wording. “Christ! They’re coming out of the closet aren’t they?”

Mycroft’s eyebrow raised minutely, his expression eerily reminiscent of his brother’s when Sherlock was surprised by something.

Another insight followed the first. “You don’t know when or how it’s going to happen. You don’t have any control over it at all!” John stated his conclusion as fact then added, “And you don’t like playing defense.”

Mycroft looked sour. “As always Dr. Watson your perspicacity amazes me. Having Sherlock in the midst of an already volatile community in the throes of a major social upheaval is not an ideal situation.”

“I’m not sure what you expect me to do.”

Mycroft exhaled through his nose in the Homesian equivalent of a sigh, “Whatever you can Dr. Watson, whatever you can to keep my brother safe. Forewarned is forearmed. Isn’t that the saying?” With that Mycroft stood, snagged his umbrella and exited the flat leaving John to ponder the information.

*******

His shift at the clinic had managed to stop John from obsessively musing on the potential problems which would be caused by the werewolves coming out of the closet. In and amongst the colds and strep throat there had been a couple of cases of pneumonia, a hyperthyroid condition followed by a major auto accident right on their front step. Triage and organization of medical emergencies had been drilled into John by the army. He could do it half asleep and had done exactly that on a number of occasions. Logistically a multi-car pile-up with injuries was no big deal, which was how he ended up coordinating the medical response of not only the clinic staff but also the London ambulance services and the MET. It was, however, exhausting work. Thus by the end of his shift all he wanted to do was have a cup of tea and watch some crap telly.

That was not what he ended up doing. Sherlock was in a strop because, as predicted, the necklace had been produced to capitalize on the rumors of its missing status. Someone had bodged up a reasonable facsimile and attempted to pass it off as the real item. There had been no connection to the original theft at all. To make matters worse John was having that skin prickling feeling he got when something eventful was about to happen. It had started just after all the injured from the accident had been packed off to hospital and had been getting worse ever since. Just what he needed were his abilities to act up after the day he’d had so far.

Generally John found his paranormal gifts to be useful. He could assess disease or injury severity, detect non-human heritage, see through glamor and determine just how powerful someone or something was with a simple glance. However the quasi-precognition was a real pain in the rear. It rarely gave him anything specific, most often it was only a generalized warning that the universe was about to dump a load of crap in his direction close enough that he’d either be directly involved or need to deal with the consequences. While this was somewhat helpful on a battlefield or similar life or death situations it was not so helpful in a civilian setting. To make matters worse all it seemed to do lately was make him jumpy and gave him a headache.

He had just decided against taking anything in favor of a second cup of tea so he was up and moving when the doorbell rang and the prickly feeling took a spike. John immediately reversed direction and started for the door grabbing the fireplace poker on the way. Whatever it was he was going to meet it head on.

Mrs. Hudson had let the in the visitor who was now climbing the 17 stairs that lead to the flat. John propped the poker next to the door jamb within easy reach then opened the door just as the visitor gained the landing. The gentleman was a little under six foot, solidly built and in his 40’s or at least that was what he was projecting. Their eyes met and John knew that their visitor understood that he had been seen.

“May I enter Dr. Watson,” their visitor asked politely.

John merely cocked his head and waited.

The visitor smiled and said “I mean no harm on this house or the people who dwell herein.”

“Nice,” said John. “Want to try that again?”

The Fae on the doorstep sighed then switched languages _“I promise no harm to this house or to the dwellers therein. I pledge to defend this house from all evil whilst I am present within its walls._ Sufficient?”

John nodded shortly, “Enter and be welcome.”

Sherlock had sat up from his slump in his chair from the moment John grabbed the poker and had clearly been following the interaction. He stood when the Fae entered and nodded his head in greeting. “Tea?” he asked as he gestured to the sofa.

“That would be most welcome.”

John quickly relocated to the kitchen and made tea, putting a few biscuits on the tray in addition. He kept an ear open but there was no conversation from the sitting room. When he made it back into the room the Fae and Sherlock were examining each other intently. Neither seemed a bit discommoded that the other was staring rather than talking.

John poured and handed over the cup to their guest. The next several moments were spent doctoring tea to each of their satisfaction. Nothing at all was said until everyone had taken at least one sip.

“So to what do I attribute the honor of your presence in my abode?” Sherlock asked formally in a manner very different from his normal demeanor when dealing with a client.

Good, John thought, Sherlock had deduced what John had seen. They were dealing with a very powerful member of the Fae community. From the power level John was picking up this was potentially even one of the leaders, one of the so called _Grey Lords_.

“It has come to the attention of some of my brethren that you are tracking certain articles of adornment.”

Sherlock inclined his head while John sipped his tea.

The Fae lord paused and when it was clear that no verbal acknowledgement was forthcoming continued, “I come with information and a request that might have implications for your investigation.”

“Proceed then.”

“It starts in antiquity when one of my kin made a set of cups. There were six of them in all. As is true of all objects of worth and power they migrated from owner to owner over the years acquiring additional embellishments along the way. One of them was given to a carpenter as a gift upon the birth of his son.” The Fae took a biscuit and ate it in one bite washing it down with another sip of his tea. “The cup, as near as we can tell, was passed thereafter between various human owners. Its last known location was here in these isles. At that time it had been stripped of some of its adornment and its nature had mutated somewhat but it was still recognizable as my cousin’s work. It was peripherally involved in the events that caused the destruction of my sister’s home and her ultimate departure from these shores. We lost track of it with the rise of iron machines and it remains missing to this day.” The Fae looked sad.

Sherlock had his hands together in his ‘thinking’ pose. John saw the moment when Sherlock made whatever connection there was between the story and the missing jewelry case.

“Gemstones,” he said. “Taken off the cup and sold during hard times. Eventually incorporated into other articles. You fear that someone is systematically acquiring the gems. They either have the cup or know where it is. The goal is to restore the cup to its most powerful configuration and use it for something that is inimical to your interests.”

It was the Fae’s turn to incline his head in acknowledgement.

“Why not have your liaison take this information to the police?” Sherlock’s tone was polite.

“Because they do not have the resources or integrity to cope if this is true.” The Fae glanced pointedly at John while speaking

“Your belief in my competence is flattering.” Sherlock replied, “But what is your purpose in telling me this?”

John’s tension ratcheted up another notch. He surreptitiously glanced around noting the location of the nearest objects made of iron just in case.

The Fae lord smiled showing his teeth. “Primarily as a matter of courtesy, however, there are those who would be most pleased if the underlying article was returned to its creator’s kin.”

Sherlock smiled back also showing teeth, “Those who know me and my work also know that I follow my own path. I will do so in this matter as well.”

“I suppose that is all I can expect.” The Fae stood. “Your time is valuable as is mine, I will take my leave.”

John stood as well and escorted the Fae all the way out the front door without saying a word. He returned to the flat to find himself, for the second time that day, the object of Sherlock’s full attention.

“Your grandmother’s stories have served you well again I see,” was Sherlock’s opening remark. “but I’m curious as to how you knew that you were dealing with a powerful Fae? You grabbed the poker before he’d even breached the front door.”

“I’m sensitive.” John chose the simplest explanation. “I’m not really sure how it works. I just know.” Luckily Sherlock took the statement at face value.

“Besides,” John continued, “Only a Fae would come and tell Sherlock Holmes that his current case is actually tied up in a quest for the Holy Grail and not make the obligatory Monty Python reference.”

“Excuse me?” Sherlock looked completely confused.

“That does it,” John said with a laugh. “I now know what _insipid piece of popular culture_ I’m going to inflict on you this weekend!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to ineedthisname over on FF.net for pointing out a typo.


	9. Werewolves Are Political Animals (Reprise)

Striding through the halls of MI6 James hoped that the current summons to M’s office meant that something had surfaced regarding the potential arms deal. He’d spent several weeks backstopping his Brandon James cover only to have 003 go semi-dark, no contact other than long range camera footage, for the last month and a half throwing the entire mission into waiting mode. It wasn’t unusual for a potential mission like this to _stall out_ so to speak. In fact 90% of an agent’s time was spent waiting for something; waiting for a source, waiting on a stakeout, waiting to take the shot. Of course the other 10% was an adrenaline junkie’s wet dream. It took a rather strange psychological make up to make the switch from waiting to action in a heart-beat or two. It was also the reason that the 00’s and many of the A-list agents were considered volatile at best and unstable at the worst. It was, however, exactly the type of mindset that most werewolves lived with 24/7 which meant that James was unusually well matched to the job.

When he arrived in the executive suite Moneypenny’s half-hearted response to his outrageous flirting didn’t bode well. She merely sighed and waived him into M’s office. M’s face was even more telling. Mallory looked like he had been chewing on a lemon.

“007,” he said without preamble, “your services have been requested by the Home Office.”

“What about 003’s arms sale? When it goes active it will require a very quick turnaround. Wouldn’t it be better to assign whatever it is to another agent?”

“They requested you specifically. Insisted. I couldn’t talk them out of it. However, they are aware of the limitations on your participation and they understand that if the other operation breaks open you’ll be pulled. I was able to get that much of a concession.”

“Mission parameters?” James didn’t see the usual folder with the relevant background information on M’s desk.

“I don’t know. It’s apparently above my clearance.” M grimaced. “They did say it should only take four days or so at the maximum. Q is preparing your gear at their direction and he will be sent information regarding your briefing location. Good luck 007.”

James gave a short nod in acknowledgement and left. No wonder M was sour. There should be little if anything that was above his security clearance. To be left out of the loop when the mission was assigned to one of his own agents was especially galling. James wondered how much additional information Q would have. He’d need a certain amount of detail to determine exactly what equipment was required. James lengthened his stride as he headed to Q branch.

When he walked into the branch he noticed that Q was in his glassed in office rather than out in the bullpen as was his normal custom for equipping an agent. Q spotted him and gave half waive that indicated his presence in the office was requested.

“You are going as yourself for this one,” Q started as soon as he entered and handed him a passport along with an envelope presumably containing plane tickets. “For the first leg you’ll be carrying the diplomatic pouch to the San Francisco Consulate. You are picking it up at the briefing. You’ll bypass security and customs on both ends.” Q handed him a personalized Walther, “No smuggling needed this time 007.”

“Are you going to provide me with anything special? Exploding pen perhaps?” James used their standing joke in an attempt to get Q to divulge more information.

“Yes, I have a pen for you. It doesn’t explode. Sorry.”

“I’m disappointed. I thought I was your favorite!”

Q snorted and displayed the pen. “It takes high resolution pictures,” he proceeded to demonstrate “and stores them on this mini-usb drive. As an added benefit if you plug the drive into a computer it will install a backdoor that I or one of the other programmers can exploit.”

“Nice.”

“The latest upgraded mobile is also in order,” Q said handing it over along with a standard covert earpiece. “I’ve been informed that I’ll be your sole point of contact with MI6 on this one. The appropriate numbers are programmed in and your com set is slaved to my computer.”

“No wonder M was upset,” James mused aloud.

“I’m not too pleased either,” Q admitted. “I’m going to be living in my office for the duration. The Home Office is playing this very close to the vest. I don’t even have the briefing location…” he was interrupted by his computer indicating an incoming message, “…yet.”

Q glanced at the computer then opened the message. His face went completely blank and James felt a surge of something that felt like a combination of anxiety and concern. It seemed to be radiating from Q. Q took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose before putting them on again.

“Q?” James was slightly worried. It was clear something about that incoming message had upset him.

Q grabbed a pen and scribbled down an address. “Your briefing is at this address in two hours. Do me a favor and pop the battery out of your phone before you enter the building and don’t activate your communication gear.”

“Why?”

“You are going to be walking into one of the most electronically secure venues in London with some of the most technologically advanced spying devices ever made. I’m afraid that the protections will interact badly with the equipment.”

“You know this how?”

“I designed the protections 007,” Q admitted.

“Since you obviously recognize the address do you have any other tips?”

“Don’t underestimate the man you are going to meet,” Q stated blandly. “He’s incredibly powerful behind the scenes. Regardless of what he looks like he’s one of the most ruthless people you will ever encounter. He will sacrifice most anything or anyone in a heartbeat for the good of the nation.”

“You’ve had dealings with him before I take it?”

“Extensively in the past, not so much lately. He’s incredibly subtle and any operation he’s involved in will be labyrinthine in its complexity. His machinations loose me over 60% of the time.”

Now wasn’t that interesting. Q rarely if ever indicated that he lost out to someone or something. To hear him do so casually was almost beyond belief. “Anything else?” James’ asked.

“Just be careful James.”

A little over 24 hours later Bond found himself in a rather utilitarian Seattle Police station looking over reports involving the death of Sir Arthur Madden and his wife Eleanor also known as Sunny. Sunny Madden had been tortured until she bled out and her body had been dumped at the fence line of an industrial park. The fenced complex was a high end corporate retreat center with a specialized area for large area group activities such as paint ball, laser tag and scavenger hunts. She’d been found rather quickly due to the fact that there had been an activity going on the in the complex at the time. An activity in which her husband had been one of the participants. Sir Arthur had been found less than 24 hours later dead in his condo from multiple stab wounds. Several of the antique weapons from his collection were missing.

The investigator’s hypothesis was that Mrs. Madden had been tortured to give up information regarding the collection. There was also speculation in the report that her body had been dumped intentionally at the site as a message to her husband. This meant, the investigator had written, that Mr. Madden had lost his life in a fight over some of the more valuable items with the thieves. It was a plausible theory but for the fact that Sir Arthur was a werewolf. In fact he had been the Master of the Isles, the leader of all the werewolves in the U.K. That position required a strong dominant with quite a bit of political savvy and intelligence. He would have not been an easy man to take out even for another werewolf. No, something was not right with this and it was James’ mission to figure out what had actually happened.

His briefing had indicated that Arthur had been in Seattle to attend a summit between the Marrok and representatives of a variety of the European wolves. The subject allegedly was the timing and logistics regarding going public. It wasn’t supposed to be a discussion so much of _if_ they were coming out but more so of _when_ and _how to manage it_. Since the meeting was in their territory the Emerald City Pack had been playing host so James figured his first line of investigation would be to contact them and find out if they knew what had happened. He had a couple of ideas regarding where to look for the pack but he knew within a minute or so of walking into the police station that he wouldn’t need to use them. His nose told him quite clearly that there was at least one werewolf in the building. Judging from the scent the wolf was most likely one of the detectives rather than a beat cop. James could tell from the intensity of the scent he was not currently in the room. He made sure before he left to leave his scent in the places where he smelled werewolf the strongest. That should be enough to entice someone to make contact.

James was not terribly surprised when his mobile buzzed around 18:20. He had used his name and rank as well as left his mobile number with the police in case they had additional information. The call was from an blocked number.

“Bond.”

“Hello Commander Bond,” said a voice with a Scottish burr so faint that it was barely noticeable. “I’m making the assumption that you are in town investigating a certain incident which occurred last week.”

“Yes, that would be a valid assumption.”

“We expected someone would be in contact but not quite so fast. I find that I need to know who exactly you are.”

James had expected this request for his bona fides. Given the slight accent he decided to start with one of his older connections first. “You can ask the Kincaid’s of Aberdeen about me.” Johnathan Kincaid was the Alpha of the largest pack in the Scottish Highlands and his middle son just happened to be the caretaker of Bond’s now ruined ancestral home. “Shaun McKellan of London would also speak for me,” he added. The next one Bond knew, if they could contact him, would almost ensure that he would get not only a meeting but also quite likely be passed up the chain of command. “But you know,” James continued without a pause, “if you can get a hold of David Christianson remind him that he still owes me a bottle of scotch for that time in Caracas.”

“Thank you very much we’ll be in touch” said the voice on the other end of the line and rang off.

Bond wondered how long it would take them to research his credentials. Less than ten minutes later his mobile rang again. This time it was Q.

“Someone has accessed your military records and Universal Exports cover,” Q started in without preamble. “They spoofed their IP address and used a Starbuck’s Wi-Fi connection. It’s on 25th Ave NE in the University District if you are interested.”

“Not worth it. They’ll be long gone by the time I could get there. Can you access cameras and get anything for me about the last number that called my mobile?”

The clicking of keys went on for a few minutes and eventually stopped followed by a breathy humph sound. “Cameras are set up on the drive through. The one in the store is not registering. Mobile was a new purchased from a kiosk in Tacoma this afternoon. Cash transaction. No decent camera coverage there either. Call was initiated from somewhere in Washington Park and the number is not currently showing as active anywhere in the local system. Someone was smart and turned the phone off. I’ve put a flag in to alert me when it accesses the cell network again.”

“By the way what are you doing up at 02 hundred Q?”

“Well I was asleep for once until the alarm I placed on your semi-public data went off. I’m a bit surprised that they didn’t go after the breadcrumbs I left. Given what I had to do to back trace they were good enough to have noticed.”

“I suspect they were just confirming what I told the Seattle Police and are going to rely on their other sources for the rest. Most likely I’ll be contacted again tomorrow.”

“Keep me informed.”

“Roger.” Bond rang off. Now that his mission seemed to be in _hurry up and wait_ mode he’d have time to investigate the micro-brew pub he’d overheard the gorgeous receptionist at the police department raving to her girlfriend about.

********

The previous night had gone well. James found the beer quite palatable, unlike the slop that most Americans seemed to think passed for a decent beverage, and the food first rate. He’d spotted several of the officers he’d seen at the station in the crowd. That was to be expected given the receptionist’s glowing recommendation of the place. James watched them for a while but they generally seemed to be unwinding from the work day. He hadn’t had a tail on the way in and he made damn sure he didn’t have one on the way out. While there had been a number of interesting prospects he had refrained from pursuing any of them. It wasn’t’ worth the chance of missing a phone call to set up a meeting due to engaging in amorous activities.

As it was he received two texts, one right after each other, at 10:00 the next morning. The first was from the same number that had contacted him yesterday. It merely had an address and a time. The second was from Q and noted that the phone had sent the text from somewhere near the Chittenden Locks and then had been turned off again. A bit of minor research regarding the address revealed that it was Bubba’s BBQ purporting to be the best BBQ in the greater Seattle area. Less than 30 minutes later he had the floor plan of not only the restaurant’s building but also the entire block courtesy of Q and the City of Seattle who had digitized most of their building permit database. The place was in the basement of an older building with a separate banquet room that could seat about 60. In addition to that room and the main dining room there was also a smaller private room which could take 12 or so diners easily and up to 20 at a pinch. James spent a little over an hour going over the plans as well as satellite imagery and every picture of the place he could scrounge from the internet. While it wasn’t as good as scoping the place out in person it was the best he was going to get.

Recon complete he stared at the goldfish that had been inexplicably present in his room when he’d checked in. He’d seen stranger things in hotel rooms but none of those had been placed there by the management. Try as he might James could think of no good reason for including a fish as part of the room’s décor. After a few minutes he gave up on the goldfish puzzle and set to cleaning his weapon. It was a good mindless task that left him free to think about his approach. He’d need to go in unarmed of course. Werewolf etiquette dictated that most altercations be settled with tooth and claw. Going armed into the presence of a higher ranked wolf on his own turf without permission could be construed as an insult. He’d have to assume they’d contacted Christianson. That meant they would know he was connected to Britain’s intelligence community. So how to reassure them of his intentions regarding their security? James thought for a bit and came up with a plan. Q was definitely not going to like it.

As he walked to the restaurant Bond activated his com. “Q?” he asked once the connection was established.

“Yes, what can I do for you?”

“I’m most likely going to go silent after I get to the meeting.

“I suspected as much. If you leave not of your own will or if you are out of touch for more than two hours I’ll take action.”

James chuckled at that, “Still sacrificing your promising career in espionage for me?”

“Damn right,” was Q’s reply.

Bond had made it to the restaurant by that point and gave the hostess his name. She informed him that his party was in the smaller private room, as he had expected, and gestured for him to follow. James took the opportunity to scope out the lay of the land. It was the tail end of the lunch rush. There was a brown haired girl playing something on a battered upright piano in one corner. He could smell werewolf faintly under the pungent BBQ sauce but didn’t see anyone in the main room that looked like a wolf. When he was about halfway across the room the piano player finished her tune to a smattering of applause. She looked around somewhat vaguely, presumably for inspiration then suddenly focused on him. She smiled brightly and started in playing, oh no Bond thought, the theme from Mission Impossible.

He heard Q’s chuckle over the coms, “Now that’s apropos.”

James made a noncommittal half-cough in acknowledgement.

The hostess tapped politely on a door in the back wall then held it open for him. Bond squared his shoulders and entered. The room was, as advertised, set up to hold 12 to 15 diners comfortably. It was currently occupied by only two. One of the two was standing against the far wall arms folded across his chest. He was tall, a little over 6 foot, and broad across the shoulders with long black hair braided neatly in a single plait. The ambient lighting flashed off hint of gold in one ear as he shifted his head to look at Bond. Native American in features and coloring his face was schooled in that bored flat expression of bodyguards everywhere. James was not fooled by his relaxed posture. This man was alert and ready for action. He recognized him from both description and having seen him once at a distance. This was Charles Cornick, the Marrok’s chief enforcer. James gave a polite nod in his direction and let his suit coat gap enough to show he wasn’t armed. Charles shifted slightly, no longer on a hair trigger. Bond acknowledged the stand down then turned his attention to the other man in the room.

The seated gentleman was wearing jeans, a t-shirt and boots. A well-worn leather jacket was draped over the back of the chair he was sitting in. He looked like a stereotypical college student but James could tell it was just a facade. Put that man in a tailored suit and he’d look like a CEO, in fatigues he’d be pegged as Special Forces of some sort. The aura he gave off was one of power with a little bit of something old and dangerous but carefully leashed. Clearly this was the Marrok himself.

James walked purposefully up to the opposite side of the table then stood in a civilian equivalent of parade rest and waited to see what would happen. The Marrok looked him over then drew breath as if to speak. James reacted by raising a finger in warning.

The Marrok cocked his head, curious, and remained silent.

James pulled his earpiece out of his ear and dropped it into one of the glasses sitting on the table. He faintly heard Q say “Oh no, not again” after it hit the bottom of the glass and just before he poured water from the handy pitcher submerging it. James then carefully extracted his phone from a pocket, popped the battery out and laid both pieces on the table.

The Marrok smiled at him as if he had just done something quite clever and said “Please do sit down Mr. Bond.”

James pulled out a chair and sat.

After a pause the Marrok started to speak. He had a soft calming voice. “David said that if he still owes you the scotch you need to pay up on that bottle of vodka from Minsk.”

“I’ve not been back there since ‘83 but I suppose I could get a friend of mine to snag him some.”

“That’s what he said you’d say,” the Marrok smiled again. “So what exactly is a lone wolf with ties to British intelligence doing sniffing about the Master of the Isles death?” he asked conversationally.

As he had so many times before James relied on gut instinct. He could skirt around the issue but that seemed to be the wrong approach. Instead he decided to go with the unadorned truth. “Sir Arthur was working with a contact in the British government on how best to deal with the aftermath of your pending announcement. I was dispatched to determine what happened as well as if and how it was involved in bringing the wolves out of the closet.”

“Your governmental official have a name?”

“Mycroft Holmes.”

The Marrok looked thoughtful, “Now that’s a name I’ve not heard for a while. Named for his Grandfather I suppose. So what does Mr. Holmes want?”

“Information primarily,” James replied. “A bit of advance warning would also be appreciated. He suspects that the situation on the home front will remain unsettled for a while.” James fished out a card from his pocket and passed it across the table. “If you wish to speak with him directly his personal mobile is the top number. If he doesn’t answer the second number is his PA.”

“Hmm,” the Marrok picked up the card and looked at it. “You are awfully trusting for a spy Mr. Bond.”

“Experience and instinct,” James replied calmly while secretly wondering if he’d read the situation wrong.

The Marrok glanced at his companion who simply closed his eyes momentarily. It was in that instant the Bond realized that Charles Cornick was indeed the Marrok’s son.

“It was an utter mess,” the Marrok started in. “Sunny Madden was killed by a hit team. Arthur died as a result and Jean Chastel was slaughtered in an attempt to frame one of my own and cover their tracks.”

James could tell it was the truth. Of course it was clearly not the whole truth but it was the truth none the less. “What kind of team could take out Chastel?” James wondered aloud. Bond had seen the Beast of Gevaudin fight once during the war. He was strong, fast and utterly ruthless.

“Vampires,” the Marrok said shortly then added almost as an afterthought, “hired by a Fae and given an artifact to assist them.”

“Which Fae?” Bond asked. If they hadn’t been dealt with already it was something he was perfectly ready and willing to volunteer to take care of. He had the skills after all.

“Dana, La Bella Dame Sans Merci. She’s dead and the artifact has been destroyed.”

Bond let the surprise show on his face. It wasn’t easy to kill a Fae. Even more difficult to kill one of the Fae with power and any Fae with a sobriquet like that would have been very powerful indeed. “And the vampires?”

“They were independent contractors. The local seethe dealt with them.”

That was also the truth and clearly everything the Marrok was going to tell him for now. The rest would most likely be up to Mr. Holmes. James was just about to start making polite excuses when the door to the room suddenly was pushed open. The brown haired piano player stood in the doorway expertly balancing a huge platter of ribs on one arm and carrying a pile of serviettes and packages of wet wipes in her other hand. She walked into the room ignoring the glares both the Marrok and Charles were sending her way.

“Bran,” she started in, “It’s impolite in the extreme to haul anyone to a meeting at Bubba’s and fail to feed them! Now be nice and eat.” She placed the platter on the table between the two of them as she spoke. The girl, no female werewolf, then proceeded to walk over to Charles and grab his arm towing him out of the room while saying “and you, my dear, are eating lunch with me!”

James was absolutely stunned at her audacity. Who was this wolf and where did she get off telling the Marrok what to do? To top that why did she remind him strongly of Q? As the door shut behind them he looked at Bran for an explanation.

The Marrok had his face firmly planted in one hand, “Omega wolves,” he muttered then looked up at Bond. “Wonderful creatures and a royal pain in the ass. They manage the pack to make everyone and everything happier regardless of whether you want them to do so or not.” He raised his head and met James’ eyes directly. “A piece of advice when dealing with one, whatever you do, don’t ever threaten what an Omega views as theirs. They will destroy you utterly.”

James didn’t know how he knew but he was suddenly sure that the brown haired girl had a direct hand in the events of the last week and most likely was the cause of the Fae’s demise. He couldn’t help it. He glanced at the door to make sure it had closed completely behind her.

The Marrok, who had clearly read quite a bit from his reaction, chuckled and grabbed a rib off the platter. “You better help me eat this otherwise we are both going to be in trouble!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here are the cameos. Let me know how I did with them.


	10. A Night On The Town

Before being turned Q had never quite grasped the full ramifications of the phrase _that time of the month_ as used by his female friends. Now he did. It was a feeling that left him on edge, an itch he couldn’t quite scratch coupled with an increase in appetite and an urge to growl when anything went wrong. If this was similar to what half the human race went through on a monthly basis he could see why it was often compared to a curse. James had told him that the longer you went the easier it was to deal with but that didn’t do any good right here and right now. No, for the present Q had decided to minimize contact with others for the 48 hours prior to the full moon and use the time to work on one or another of his pet projects. Q knew this wouldn’t always be possible but this month he had managed to escape the day to day minutia of espionage for almost the entire time period.

It hadn’t hurt that several operations had concluded the day before and all the remaining active missions seemed to be in static mode. In fact the only mission that had the potential to go south was 004’s deep cover in Mumbai. The intelligence from that operation so far had been excellent in no small part due to the efforts of agent 368. Tobias “Toby” Uchaia had been their inside man working as housekeeping and maintenance staff in the quasi-legitimate side of the business. He’d spotted the opportunity that allowed 004 to insert herself into the deep cover opportunity and then had managed to work his way into a position as her dogsbody. Q had already flagged the young man as a candidate for A list training.

The latest batch of intelligence he had had passed on was the direct reason why Bond was not currently in London. He’d returned from the Home Office mission in Seattle and had barely had time to change clothes before he was off to Romania trying to track down a potential connection between 003’s arms dealers and 004’s smuggling ring. Unfortunately by the time Bond had arrived on location the potential source was dead with no trace of his killer. To make matters worse the location of the body was a trap set up to catch whoever came to investigate and frame them for the murder. 007 had pulled one of his now infamous escapes by the skin of his teeth; complete with the obligatory explosion and a high speed car chase. Surprisingly, he had also managed to snag not only a hard drive but also the victim’s mobile from the crime scene before it exploded. Both items were due in Q branch within the next few days courtesy of Station S where Bond had dropped them off along with most of his equipment. James had indicated that he would take a couple of days and return overland ostensibly to throw off any potential pursuit from either the Romanian authorities or the actual killer. While this was somewhat standard for most of the 00’s Q knew that James was, in all probability, using the full moon shift as an excuse to take a run through Northern Europe. He’d show up in Brussels in a day or two none the worse for wear.

Thinking about running reminded Q that he needed to hurry to get things finalized before moonrise. He inserted the last piece then tested the connection. Perfect. It had all worked fine when he tested each item separately. Now all that remained was to see if the components worked in concert when mounted together. Time to relocate from his office to the fortified lab. He should just have enough time to check and see if the latent functions really worked.

Ten minutes later Q was very pleased with the results. He now had a collar which not only opened certain doors in MI6 but also would ensure that any pictures from a camera would be foggy at best. Cameras with panning capacity would be automatically paused or directed away from him and there was an ECM pulse that would kill all electronics in a 20 yard radius. Of course the latter would completely drain the battery so it was a one shot emergency function. Satisfied Q placed the collar on the workbench then set up the preset communication protocol on his laptop and placed it on the floor. Finally he disrobed and waited for the change to take him.

Q came out of the change feeling, as usual, hungry. Unfortunately there was no real time to stop and eat. He moved over to the laptop, carefully extended a claw and tapped the key that sent the prepared e-mail.

Eve was prompt as ever. Less than 5 minutes from her desk to the depths of Q branch. She breezed into the lab. Q was waiting for her the collar on the floor in front of him.

“We are all set up,” she commented as she fastened the collar around his neck. “Mattie has the branch on intrusion alert and there are several teams of A list agents who will attempt to break in overnight.” She paused to scratch his head. “I know for a fact that one of the teams has _subverted_ a member of Q branch for the purpose of the exercise. You are officially _off grid_ but I suspect they all think you are part of the team monitoring things. I’ve done nothing much to abase them of that notion.” She picked up the laptop and put it on the work bench. “Max, Tanner and I will be monitoring from conference room 3.”

Q gave a quick snort in acknowledgement.

“You know I really don’t like you going out without James,” she half scolded.

Q gave her a look that he hoped she’d interpret correctly as _James may not always be around_ .

“He’s not going to be pleased you know.”

Q tried to give her his best _Not your call, I’ll deal with it_ look.

Moneypenny sighed, apparently not having received either of his messages correctly. Attempting to communicate complex concepts with just body language was difficult at best. He’d have to work on something that would allow him to type out messages on a computer or something. Touch screen maybe? Pressure sensitive pad? Keyboard that would stand up to his claws? Q shook his head. Not tonight’s problem. Tonight his task was to get out of MI6 via the tunnels, run around for a few hours and then attempt to get back in unobserved.

“I’ll leave the door unlocked,” she said sounding resigned. “Give me a bit to get up to the conference room will you?”

Q nodded his head and sat down to wait. He could and would give her not only a few minutes but more like an hour. Unbeknownst to her another of the teams had succeeding in bribing a member of Q branch to help them. In exchange for the time of their attack and his favorite Italian take away once a week for a month Q had arranged for an equipment failure, namely the cameras in the main lobby and one of the lifts. The cameras were not dead just running on loop of an empty lobby and lift for fifteen minutes or so. In fact, if someone was alert they’d catch it. If not then that team would simply walk in the front door. What they did with the opportunity from there was up to them.

At 20:45 Q managed to slip out of the building via the labyrinth of tunnels housing Q-Branch. It was a tight fit in a couple of places but he managed, emerging some half mile from Vauxhall Cross onto the banks of the river through what looked like a storm drain outflow. By 21:00 he was aimlessly trotting through the back streets and alleys avoiding most of the CCTV cameras, trusting the collar to take care of the rest. The whole idea was to kill a couple hours before attempting to unobtrusively get back into MI6.

Q decided, despite the difficulties and the number of cameras, that staying in the industrial areas was preferable. The lack of traffic at night would minimize the potential that someone on the street would spot him. Even if he was observed during his walk about your average person would not mess with what he or she thought was an overly large dog. The worst that would happen was that he’d be reported to the police as a stray animal.

He was just about ready to head back to MI6 and make his own infiltration attempt when he caught a familiar scent. He looked around just in time to see Dr. John Watson alighting from a cab at the next corner. After their encounter in the alley the month before Q had done a little background research on the man. He came from a Scottish family, had a sister who was an alcoholic and a large amount of aunts and cousins with whom he was not close and did not really associate with. This was apparently due to his mother being the black sheep of the family and had run off when she was in her teens. In fact, the only person of his extended family that he’d had a relationship with seemed to have been his maternal grandmother who had passed away some years ago. He was former RAMC but also had some special forces training and was a crack shot. Just how he had learned about werewolves was somewhat of a mystery but Q suspected it had something to do with the fact that he’d interned at a clinic that also had happened to have one Dr. Erika Nielson on its staff at the time. He had made a note to himself to bump the priority of his search into Dr. Neielson’s background up a notch or two. There might also be a family connection because one of his distant cousins was the liaison to one of the larger Scottish Fae enclaves.

Q was curious. What the heck was the man doing in this neighborhood at this time of night? He wouldn’t have thought it strange if he’d been in the company of his consulting detective flat mate but he was clearly alone. As the cab pulled away Q decided to approach. He reminded himself to make some noise so as not to startle the man but he need not have worried. As soon as he was almost within human earshot Dr. Watson suddenly looked around and spotted him. The man went still and Q knew he was within a hair’s breadth of pulling a firearm. Q moved into the light and stood letting Watson register both who and what he was. Watson relaxed slightly then shrugged and deliberately turned walking down the street and into an alcove that was clearly out of view of any cameras. Q followed.

As he nipped into the cover of the alcove John said “Hello again. You taking your monthly constitutional?”

Q snorted meaning _obviously_ .

“Interested in acting as backup? I’ve got to go and rescue my idiot flat mate from that club down there,” he gestured to a discrete sign half way down the block. “We’ve done this before. I get to play the groveling lover who wants the object of his affections back after an argument.”

Q cocked his head in a _tell me more_ gesture.

“Depending upon the situation I find when I go in,” John explained, “we’ll either do the touching reunion forgiveness number or I’ll pull the jealous act and give Sherlock the excuse to get out of there.”

Q had to chuckle to himself. From the history he’d found John Watson was not the type to have either a lover’s tiff or a jealous spat in public. No Captain Three Continents Watson had a reputation of leaving relationships not only amicably but more often than not remaining on friendly terms with his ex-lovers. It was truly amazing what you could find out about someone’s personal life from what other people said about them on social media. He wagged his tail indicating that he was in agreement.

“If we need help when I come out I’ll call and you can create a distraction. You have a preference on a call sign?”

Q pawed at his neck.

John took the hint, knelt down and looked at his collar. He spotted the dog tags with their rubberized edges almost immediately. “May I?” he asked before reaching for them.

Q sat down and thumped his tail in encouragement.

John reached out for the tags and read both sides carefully. Q wondered if he’d committed the phone number to memory. “You prefer Q?” he asked.

Q gave a short nod.

“Ok Q,” John stood up, “If I’m not out in 20 minutes try and get in the door or create a commotion of some sort.”

Q thumped his tail again in agreement.

With that Dr. Watson took off for the club and, after a short conversation with the bouncer who opened the door, was admitted.

He was out less than 5 minutes later looking and smelling concerned. Q had, in the short time John had been gone, relocated to an alleyway just past the club’s entrance. Q let out a small chuff sound to alert him as to the new location. John picked up on it and meandered in the indicated direction as the bouncer watched. As soon as the door of the club was closed he nipped into the alley.

“Not good,” John remarked. “I found Sherlock’s mobile hidden in the loo. He’d managed to get a timer going and if it’s accurate we are less than 6 minutes behind him but I have no idea where he went. There’s a back door but its alarmed and I didn’t want to chance setting things off. What I really need to know is if he left the building or if I need to tear the place apart.” Dr. Watson held out the phone with a hopeful look, “Do you think you can get a scent off that and tell me if he used the back door?”

Q sniffed once, but not at the phone, then turned and headed down the alley to locate the back door. It was right where he thought it would be. He sniffed at the door jams as well as at the lip of the door. There was the scent he was looking for. Q whirled and started to follow it. He only made it a little ways when the coppery scent of blood mixed with Sherlock’s scent trail. Ah ha, a smear of blood on the side of a bin. He pointed it out to Watson.

Watson carried a penlight in his pocket and he shined it on the indicated area, “Is this Sherlock’s?”

Q indicated affirmative with a grunt.

“Shit. Not in here though?” he asked as he peered in the bin.

Meanwhile Q was casting about for the scent trail. He now could distinguish three other distinct scents along with Sherlock’s. He made three distinct growls.

“Three of ‘em?”

Q made another affirmative grunt. Unlike Moneypenny, Watson it seemed was having no trouble at all correctly interpreting Q’s noises and body language.

“Can you track them?”

Q didn’t reply to that, he just took off nose to the ground with Watson right on his tail. They were almost to the Thames when they caught up with the abductors. Even three rather burly men couldn’t move too fast while hauling over six foot and approximately 64 kg of lanky dead weight detective. This was especially true when only two of the men were doing the carrying and the third was acting as a lookout.

Q didn’t hesitate. He launched himself at the lookout using his speed and mass to carry the man into a nearby wall. Behind him there was a meaty thud and something heavy hit the ground followed by the sound of running feet. Q’s man was half stunned and he took the time to place his paw on the man’s carotid artery cutting off the blood supply and sending him into unconsciousness. Q then turned around to see Dr. Watson kneeling beside the motionless body of Sherlock Holmes and ignoring the groaning zip tied thug that was laying less than two feet away. Q kept one eye on the thug he’d downed and the other on the surrounding area just in case the third man came back with reinforcements.

As it was Q smelled the intruder on the scene before he spotted him. He smelled of damp horse and rotten vegetation with an overlay of ozone. It looked human but there was a fuzziness around the edges that Q quickly identified as a badly set Fae glamor. He was just about to make a sound to alert Watson when the Fae spoke.

“Well, Magnus always says you get what you pay for,” it remarked conversationally to no one in particular.

Watson looked at the Fae calmly. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Oh,” the Fae chuckled slightly, “I think it might be delightful to have you finish the project my friends started.”

Q when he when he was young had been exposed to Fae magics directly. He had also seen them used through the eye of a camera lens before the magic itself had shorted the circuit. The agents were trained in resisting such magic and the human 00’s had protections surgically implanted. MI6 branch heads and executives all carried similar protection. Q had done so up until his metamorphosis. As a wolf, of course, Q had an even better level of magical immunity than what he had carried formerly.

Being in direct proximity to active magic being used was a different matter than observing it remotely. This he could feel and smell. It was like static electricity, made his fur stand on end and the ozone smell began to overwhelm the rotting vegetation horse odor that seemed to be emanating from the Fae. Q determined that if he didn’t act quickly Dr. Watson was going to be coerced into doing something against his will; most likely tossing Sherlock Holmes into the Thames.

Q rushed out of the shadows and skidded to a stop directly between the Fae and John where he knelt by Sherlock. His fur was bristling and a low growl emerged from his throat. The Fae looked surprised.

“Puppy!” It exclaimed. “I’ve always wondered how puppy tasted.” It licked its lips as the glamor slipped a bit more to reveal a larger shape than the human it was attempting to portray.

“And I’ve always wondered whether a blessed silver point bullet through the eye would be as effective on Fae as it is on feral wolves.” John’s voice was cold and calculating.

Q was quite familiar with the tone. He’d heard it often just before all hell broke loose and the bodies started falling. Watson sounded just like one of his 00’s.

The Fae looked a little shocked. Apparently it wasn’t used to being challenged. It straightened up and the larger shape seemed to be coalescing into visibility when a police siren suddenly wailed from less than a block away. The Fae leapt back a good 10 feet then darted away around a corner.

Q glanced back. Watson had a rather nice looking Sig Sauer P226R that was still pointed in the area where the Fae had disappeared. It wouldn’t take much of a shift Q knew to be pointed at him and if John had indeed loaded blessed silver points Q needed to convince the good Doctor that he wasn’t a danger and fast. To that end Q shook his body so his fur lay back down in its normal position then crouched down on his belly. It wasn’t a submissive pose per se but it gave him more of a dog like look while still allowing him to act quickly.

Watson snorted at his behavior. “It’s not considered polite to shoot someone who just put themselves on the line for you,” he remarked as he engaged the safety and replaced his gun into the paddle holster in the small of his back.

Q wagged his tail in agreement.

“You’d better take off unless you want to deal with the MET. I texted Lestrade when I was in the club and that siren means they’re raiding it. When he doesn’t find me he’ll run a locate on both my and Sherlock’s mobiles. I expect he’ll most likely be coming around the corner at a dead run shortly.”

Q got up quickly. He trotted over to Watson and looked down at Sherlock who was groaning faintly. A sniff confirmed that he’d been given something to knock him out, most likely a spiked drink. The blood had come from a small cut on his forehead. He’d be alright, probably with a spectacular headache, once the drug wore off. Q couldn’t help himself. He licked the fallen detective’s cheek see if he could determine if anything else was wrong. Q didn’t smell or taste anything else amiss. He was rewarded by a sputter and a pair of grey eyes that opened to peer blearily at him.

John smiled at the look on Sherlock’s face. “Welcome back sleeping beauty,” he said. “You have any idea what they gave you?”

“GHB” Sherlock slurred, “salty.”

Before Dr. Watson could ask another question Q heard the sound of running feet. The officers of the MET were quite clearly on their way. He nudged John to let him know then whirled and took off. It was going to be a little tricky but he thought he had enough time, if he ran the whole way, to get back into MI6 before the intrusion exercise was scheduled to terminate. If not he’d still have time to get out to Moneypenny’s, change and call her to come and get him. As he ran Q thought to himself that regardless of the outcome of his little equipment test it had been a rather interesting night on the town.


	11. Silence is Golden

Hospital chairs were uniformly uncomfortable and John Watson had occupied enough of them over his lifetime to know. The one he was currently sitting in could be termed tolerable as befitted a private room arranged by Mycroft Holmes but it still put a kink in his neck and made his shoulder ache. Mycroft had appeared, sans assistant, just about the time they’d decided to admit Sherlock and had somehow managed to arrange for the private room as well as a security detail and medical privileges for John. After quizzing John on both the events of the evening and Sherlock’s medical condition he’d left without another word.

It had been a little over seven hours since then and the medical staff was frankly stumped. The drug Sherlock had been given acted and tested as GHB but every time it started to wear off it was as if the remaining amount in his system multiplied and put him under again. This put him in danger of respiratory complications and had a serious potential for overdose which was why John had insisted on a rather stringent monitoring protocol. The only thing that gave John any hope was that each time the drug load spiked the tests indicated that total amount was less than the previous spike.

John suspected that this had something to do with the Fae they’d encountered in the alley. It had admitted that it had hired the thugs. It had also been clear from the smell and his other senses that the Fae was water based. Since blood and body fluids were, in effect, water John suspected that the effects he was seeing were the result of some sort of magical spell combined with the GHB. John didn’t know very much about spells or curses but he did know that they often had triggers. If there was a trigger that caused the unmetabolized drug in Sherlock’s system to revert to full potency then John ought to be able to figure out what it was. He’d been attempting to do so for the last four cycles and had come up with several possibilities. Heart rate, movement and speech were most likely. Each time Sherlock had started to wake up his heart rate increased, he’d move and try and speak. Before he could do much the drug would increase in potency again and he’d pass out.

John stood, stretched and moved to Sherlock’s bedside. Since he had a working hypothesis he’d see if he could get Sherlock to cooperate in testing it. It was going to be tricky. Sherlock was due to wake in a bit and John didn’t know quite what he was going to say to get the detective to comply with his plan. As if the thought had spurred the action Sherlock’s heart rate started to climb and he took a deep breath.

“Sherlock, don’t move.” John used his _I’m deadly serious_ tone of voice. “Don’t try to talk and keep your heart rate as steady as possible while I explain.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed slightly then he took several deep breaths. John watched as his heart rate slowed a bit. It wasn’t as slow as when he was fully drugged but it was soon at a calm resting rate.

“Ok,” John started in, “You are in hospital and you’ve been out cold on and off for over eight hours total. The GHB they gave you was modified in some way. It seems to trigger back into full potency whenever you start to wake up. Its slowly wearing off as you metabolize more of the drug but I think we can cut the time down substantially if you can manage to hold off triggering the increase.”

Sherlock exhaled forcefully through his nose which John interpreted as _well get to the point_ .

“I think whatever is triggering the increase is based on something you do as you come out of the sedation,” John continued. “First thing I’d like you to try is increasing your heart rate.”

John paused for a moment as Sherlock took several shallow breaths.

“Mycroft has been through,” John remarked conversationally. “He said…” John stopped speaking as Sherlock’s heart rate and blood pressure jumped. After observing for a minute John continued “Well it doesn’t look like its heart rate.”

Sherlock snorted.

Once Sherlock’s blood pressure and heart rate had returned to normal John asked “Movement next?”

Sherlock gave a huff in annoyance.

“Oh we should probably come up with a communication system since I don’t want you talking yet. Tap twice for yes, once for no to start. If movement isn’t the trigger then we can try writing.”

Sherlock tapped his hand twice on the bed rail then opened his eyes.

John used the opportunity to do a pupil reaction test.

“Grab my hands.” John continued. Sherlock did so and John ran him through a quick and dirty neurological assessment.

“Well you are definitely still under the influence. You probably could walk if you had to but I wouldn’t advise trying it just yet.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, his expression shouted _Obviously_ , but he didn’t speak.

“Let’s see if sitting you up causes problems,” John continued in doctor mode ignoring the expression. It only took a minute or so to get the bed and Sherlock arranged to John’s satisfaction. “Still dizzy?” he inquired.

Sherlock tapped once.

“Good. There was some paper around here.”

John had just turned away from the bed to look for it when the bottom fell out of his world. It was a strong and specific precognitive flash even clearer than the one that occurred just before that Fae had shown up at Baker Street. This one started as that half weightless feeling you got on a rollercoaster as the car started down the initial drop. In fact the last time he’d felt a precognition this strongly was just before he’d been shot. That time he’d known that his life would be in imminent danger if he attempted to save Corporal Hannon but he’d acted anyway. This time he knew someone highly magical and very dangerous was heading this way with the full intent of seeing Sherlock.

John pivoted on his toes looking quickly around the room. Ever since the Fae had visited them at 221B he’d been wearing magical protection. His maternal grandfather’s wristwatch and his dog tags, both of which had been imbued with every magical protection his grandmother had been able to cast as well as a few she had traded favors for, had not been off his person waking or sleeping. He assumed that Sherlock had done the same however all of Sherlock’s effects were currently packed away in a drawer and without Sherlock being able to tell him what exactly he was looking for he’d waste precious time attempting to find whatever protection Sherlock had been wearing. He quickly pulled his dog tags off over his head and settled them around Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock started in surprise and looked as if he was about to speak.

“No.” John placed a finger on Sherlock’s lips. “I need you as clear as possible just in case we have to run. Use that incredible acting ability of yours and play inebriated.”

Sherlock glared but nodded tapping his fingers twice for emphasis.

Reassured that his flat mate wasn’t going to try and talk, which John now suspected was the trigger for the drug increase, John moved to stand between the bed and the door. He reached back and unholstered his Sig placing it on the bed out of sight and slightly under the blanket with the safety off. There were sounds of footsteps in the hall and Sherlock placed his hand lightly next to John’s further obscuring the gun. John gave a slight nod of approval. From the doorway it would look like they were holding hands. At this point John didn’t care what it looked like or what anyone would think; he was going to do whatever was needed to ensure Sherlock’s safety.

The footsteps paused outside then the door opened revealing Mycroft who was followed by what looked like a child of 10 or 11. She was petite with long blond hair in pigtails. All it would take was a yo-yo or a lolly to complete the illusion of innocence. John wasn’t fooled. She was Fae and radiated both power and authority from beneath her magical disguise. He intentionally didn’t attempt to see through her glamor. With the level of power he was sensing such a move could very well be interpreted as a personal attack especially if he managed to see her true form.

On her part she stopped just inside the doorway and looked at him in surprise. She then glanced at Mycroft with a questioning gaze.

Mycroft said, “My brother’s flat mate, Dr. Watson,” indicating John. “This is a,” he hesitated fractionally, “colleague of mine whom I’ve asked to advise me on my brother’s condition.”

The Fae girl entered the room. John shifted slightly to track her new position. She looked at him and remarked to Mycroft, “He doesn’t trust me.”

Mycroft looked as if he was going to respond but John interjected “No Lady, I don’t.”

She smiled at the honorific. “How did you become so wary I wonder?” she mused half to herself.

“John,” Mycroft’s tone was pacifying, “She is here under an agreement with me.”

Sherlock moved his hand under the covers and engaged the safety on the Sig. John took that as an indication that he at least felt Mycroft’s statement was protection enough. John sighed then deliberately took the gun from under the blanket and replaced it in the holster at the small of his back guessing that she wouldn’t be upset by an obvious weapon. He didn’t move from the side of the bed and kept his eyes on the Fae girl the entire time. Luckily she seemed to be amused rather than insulted by his actions. She smiled indulgently at him while looking him over just up until the point she spotted his grandfather’s watch.

She went completely still in surprise then said “You are a McKinley.” It wasn’t a question.

“Not if you ask them,” John replied. His mother’s kin, with the exception of his grandmother, had made it very clear that he and Harry were definitely not part of the clan for reasons that neither his mother nor grandmother had bothered to explain.

“Blood will win out John Watson,” she half laughed, “You wouldn’t be able to wear that if you weren’t.”

Mycroft was acting nonchalant but John could tell that his entire attention was focused on the conversation. Sherlock too was absolutely still, listening and most likely observing from under half closed eyelids. Great, he thought to himself, now I’m going to have to explain what little I know of my family history to not one but two curious Holmes’. The source of the revelation caught Mycroft’s interest as well as John’s dismay and seemed to be mightily amused by his predicament.

“Peace cydwaed,” she smiled again at him. “I’ll do no harm to you or your anwylion this day, my word on it.”

Curiouser and curiouser John thought. Calling Sherlock his beloved was a reasonable mistake since he was technically wearing protection belonging to John. It was strange, however, that she had also claimed kinship with him. The Fae didn’t lie. They would tell falsehoods by omission or shade the truth in such a way that the obvious assumption would be completely wrong. Knowing this, the only thing John could reasonably conclude from her statement was that he and she were in some way related. It could be genetically, by power, by inclination or in some other manner. The only thing that was sure was that she considered the connection to be kinship.

“May I?” she asked John taking a half step toward the bed and Sherlock.

John glanced at Sherlock who had abandoned his drugged facade and had opened his eyes to get a good look at the Fae. “It’s partially your call. She needs both of our permissions. Mine since it’s my protection and yours since you are wearing it.”

Sherlock looked at John then at his brother for a moment then tapped twice on the bed rail.

“That’s a yes,” he addressed the Fae “and I agree as well.”

The girl grabbed one of the chairs and dragged it over to the side of the bed and scrambled up onto it. She then held out her hand to Sherlock. He took it with a raised eyebrow. She closed her eyes and less than a minute later opened them again. “Interesting” was her initial comment.

She released Sherlock’s hand then hopped down off the chair and walked over to Mycroft. “You were correct,” she addressed him as if he were the only person in the room. “This was indeed something about which I needed to know.”

Mycroft inclined his head in acknowledgement, “I know better than to waste your time with trivialities.”

“It was meant to keep him quiet. I suspect that the recurrence effect was unanticipated. There are several people and a few items which could modify a drug in this manner. I don’t suspect an item because they are few and far between and fewer still who have enough skill to use them properly.” She switched her attention back to John, “The trigger is verbal communication. Good luck at keeping a Holmes from talking for an hour or two.”

“I’m sure he’ll let you know how it goes,” John replied dryly referring to Mycroft.

The Fae moved to the door and Mycroft moved to follow. “Good bye John Watson. Your courtesy and cautiousness will stand you in good stead with my people,” were her parting words as she exited.

Mycroft paused in the doorway and gave John a level stare that clearly said we need to talk. He glanced at his brother and his eyes widened slightly. John looked over just in time to see Sherlock finish what looked like the end of a rather rude gesture. The gesture apparently derailed whatever Mycroft had been going to say and he left without a word.

John waited until Mycroft should be out of earshot then let loose the giggle he’d been holding since Sherlock’s gesture. “That was a good one,” he remarked. “Even unable to speak you managed to get the last word in over your brother.”

Sherlock hummed in agreement then grimaced.

“Uh oh,” John focused completely on Sherlock, “Did that trigger the drug to increase?”

Sherlock tapped twice, paused, then once.

“Partially then?”

Two taps.

“Well just sit tight and we’ll see how fast this bit wears off.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Look at the bright side at least you didn’t knock yourself out again!” John thought for a moment. “If you could eat it might help you metabolize the remaining drugs faster,” he suggested.

Another two taps.

John took that as agreement. He hit the call button and requested something for Sherlock to eat. That, of course, set off a whole series of events including an influx of other doctors, blood draws and drawn out discussions as to whether Sherlock should even be allowed to eat until the drugs were completely out of his system. The entire process severely taxed Sherlock’s ability to keep quiet. In fact, the only reason he managed to do so was the fact that he could rather fluently express himself in BSL. John and a couple of the nurses knew enough to generally follow along and translate although all three of them tended to leave out the extraneous personal comments regarding intelligence, hygiene and family relationships. It took over 45 minutes but John finally managed to convince the medical establishment to provide something edible and shoo all and sundry back out of Sherlock’s room.

It was another hour after Sherlock had finished eating when the lab work came back. John lifted the report from the chart at the nurse’s station. “It looks like you are almost back to normal” he commented. “An hour or two more and you can chance talking again.”

_Discharge_? Sherlock signed at him.

“They are going to try and keep you overnight I suspect. I’ll see what I can do but don’t count on my being able to spring you.”

“I thought that was what Mycroft was for,” came Lestrade’s familiar voice from the doorway.

Sherlock made another rude hand gesture.

Lestrade looked surprised. He’d clearly been expecting to provoke a verbal tirade with his remark. He looked back and forth between John and Sherlock waiting for one or the other to explain.

John took pity on him and said, “Sherlock’s going to be alright as long as he doesn’t talk for a bit.”

“What?” Lestrade looked even more confused.

“The GHB they dosed him with had a Fae spell component that triggers when he speaks. Any drug remaining in his system reverts to full potency when he talks.”

“Christ,” Lestrade swore. “I’m going to have to alert narcotics about that.”

_One off_ Sherlock signed.

“I don’t think so,” John said at the same time. “I think it was an accidental side effect to something else they were trying to do.”

“Well I’ll tell them just in case it shows up somewhere else then,” he sighed “another thing on the ever growing to do list.” Lestrade looked utterly exhausted for a moment the rallied. “I came to tell you that we identified your attackers but they are not being terribly cooperative about who they were working for.”

“Oh?”

“They both have worked as bouncers for a group called Brighter Future. It’s a more militant offshoot of an anti-Fae group called Golden Dawn. The Golden Dawn folks appear to be a legitimate political movement committed to working within the system to keep Fae and humans separate. This other group seems to be advocating the complete segregation of the Fae from human society by whatever means necessary. They’ve been on our list of potential hate-groups for a while but we’ve not connected them with any actual crimes. At this point we don’t know if these two were working for Brighter Futures, Golden Dawn or were recruited as muscle by some unknown third party.”

Sherlock glared at Lestrade and waived his hand in a gesture that clearly was _come on get to the point_.

“They have admitted to being hired to deliver you to particular address but they refuse to say anything about their employer. We took a look. It’s a warehouse right on the river. Has a dock and everything. According to the property records it’s been tied up in litigation for years. What’s really strange that it doesn’t look like anyone, even squatters, has been inside. Usually an abandoned building like that develops its own ecosystem once word gets out that it’s abandoned.”

“Did they say where got the drugs?” John asked.

“They are not talking about much of anything right now. They are just stonewalling and only dropping minor bits of information. I’m surprised that they even admitted to being hired in the first place.”

Sherlock brought his hands up to sign something.

“Yes you can question them when you get out of here.” He looked aside at John. “You know this is really strange. He isn’t saying anything but I can still hear him!”

Sherlock snorted and John laughed outright.

“Yeah, I know,” Lestrade grumbled. “He’s got me trained. I’m a glorified Labrador retriever but instead of birds I fetch him cases.”

Lestrade turned to leave then stopped and turned back, “Speaking of dogs John, one of the thugs is convinced that you have some sort of Irish Setter Russian Wolfhound crossbreed that attacked him.”

“Uh…there was a dog in the alley when the fight started but it took off. Did you drug test him? I hit him pretty hard but concussions don’t usually cause hallucinations.”

“Nothing showed up on our initial drug screen. The medical folks said he was fine to keep in the cells so the concussion couldn’t have been that bad. It was just strange that this is the second time you two have gotten into an altercation and someone on the losing side has mentioned a dog.”

“If it happens a third time you can always try to find and arrest the dog.”

Lestrade gave John a dirty look. “I’ll see you two at the yard tomorrow. Text me when they release him with your ETA.”

After the door had shut John looked at Sherlock who signed _dog?_

John nodded fractionally while shrugging. He wasn’t about to talk about it here especially since in all probability Mycroft had surveillance somewhere in the room. It was clear that Sherlock had deduced as much from John’s expression and body language because he didn’t continue. Instead he folded his hands, arranged himself in his thinking pose and the two of them settled down to wait until the drugs were completely out of his system.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well the next chapter I was drafting came a lot quicker than I expected therefore you all get an additional chapter. Enjoy. As always let me know if you spot a typo, have a brit pick or feel the need to comment. All are welcome.


	12. A Stern Talking To

Q Branch was unusually quiet. The R&D folks were around but none of the operational staff or the hackers seemed to be present. James wondered what was up as he headed toward the bullpen to return his equipment. He could have shipped it straight back to London after the Romanian mission courtesy of Station S but collecting it in Brussles gave him the perfect excuse to come in and catch up with Q.

Once he got to the bullpen he realized why the branch was half deserted, Q was conducting some sort of staff meeting. James slipped in to listen.

“So just how are we supposed to spot these anomalies?” one of the computer specialists, George, asked.

“Same way law enforcement does,” Q responded. “You learn the normal ebb and flow of people and data, then investigate the things that don’t fit.”

“But we don’t have normal around here,” another tech objected.

“No, we actually have several sets of “normal” around here. One of those is when I’m logged on and since the entire point of this exercise was to determine how well you lot worked without me we can discount that one.”

It was interesting watching Q in full on teaching mode. If he wasn’t working intelligence James realized that Q would have made an excellent and beloved professor. One of those who enabled students to do their absolute best while challenging their minds and expanding their horizons.

“Mission normal and otherwise?” Someone hazarded a guess.

“Less static than two modes. Think more of a sliding scale.” Q’s voice was encouraging.

“The more important the mission the more information traffic?” That was Ranger one of the newer hackers.

“Very close,” said Q. “I’ve not taken the time to figure out the exact parameters but it has to do with the 00’s. There is a distinct difference when they are all in country to when one or more them is dark or, in the worst case scenario, missing and presumed dead.”

“Oh my god,” James’ sensitive ears picked up one minion’s whispered comment to another, “He’s telling us that the MI6 information flow revolves around James bloody Bond!”

“You’ve worked here for more than a year and you haven’t figured out yet that the entire agency revolves around the 00 section especially James Bond?” was the whispered reply.

James could tell that Q had also heard the comment and was amused by it.

 “The full report is on the server in the usual place, specific action items I’ve E-mailed to the appropriate parties. Anyone have any questions?”

One of the minions spoke up “Whatever happened to Infiltration Group 3 sir? I heard they got pretty far into the building but didn’t complete their mission.”

Q smiled. “Group 3, just like Group 2 managed to subvert a member of Q branch. Now unlike Group 2 they weren’t greedy and just wanted a window of opportunity to get through the lobby and up the lift. The Q branch staffer in question provided that and they made it up to the executive floor.”

“The executive floor?” someone else asked. “What were they doing there? I thought the objective was to infiltrate us?”

“They were actually quite clever.” Q was still smiling. Bond could tell he was smugly amused. “They rightly assumed that the branch would be too tough a nut for them to crack without some leverage so they went after some, namely me. I’m not quite sure how but they had managed to find out that the whole exercise was being monitored from conference room 3. Of course the obvious inference was that I’d be present. They thought they’d invade, capture me and blackmail you lot into letting them in. I figured that at least one of the groups might try that ploy so I wasn’t even in the building when the exercise went down. Unfortunately for Group 3 they ran into Tanner, Moneypenny and Max which is why their score was 2 killed, 2 captured and the remaining 2 unconscious in the lift.”

There was a generalized mumble from the assembled minions the main theme of which seemed to be _ouch_.

Max was grinning. “I never did find out who they subverted,” he stated. “Do you know?”

“Me,” Q waived his hand for emphasis as everyone gaped at him. “What they forgot is that it’s not a good idea to talk about double crossing a _tech wizard_ in the very building that said _tech wizard_ controls.”

Everyone in the room laughed at that statement. James used the noise to slip out. He’d wait a few minutes for the room to clear before returning his equipment. That way he would have a better chance of getting Q alone.

Ten minutes later James made his second entrance of the day into the Q branch bullpen. He strode up to Q’s workstation and very carefully placed each item of his equipment into Q’s in box.

Q glanced up from what he was working on and his eyes widened. He looked James up and down then stared at the box full of pristine gear.

“Someone alert the news media,” he exclaimed. “The end of the world is surely at hand!”

R looked up from her desk and asked “What?”

“007 has returned all of his equipment without a scratch on either him or the equipment.”

“Shall I send an e-mail to Intentions and have them start calculating the chance of a zombie apocalypse?” Max chimed in.

“Probably not,” Q replied deadpan. “We are supposed to have signs and plagues before an apocalypse. You know, raining frogs, hordes of locusts, jellyfish in the Thames. I’ve not had reports of any of those type of events yet.”

“But wouldn’t jellyfish count as a zombie apocalypse?” another tech contributed without looking up from her screen. “I mean they are effectively mindless, slow and they liquefy their prey including the brains before they eat. Technically that meets the definition of a zombie.”

James couldn’t help himself, “So what would you suggest to deal with this hypothetical plague of zombie jellyfish?”

The tech, a petite female with mousy brown long hair, looked up at his voice. When it registered just who had asked the question she looked momentarily like a deer in the headlights. To her credit she swallowed audibly then replied, “Sea turtles, sir.”

Sea turtles? James was caught off guard. He hadn’t expected a response. Most of the Q branch staff were skittish at best around the 00’s.

She even continued when he didn’t respond, “They eat jellyfish, sir.”

The look on his face must have been something because Q burst into laughter along with most everyone in the room who had overheard the exchange.

When the laughter died down Q looked at the brown-haired tech “That reminds me Lynne, do you know what the status is on that Rock Fish toxin the chemists were working on last week?”

“No sir, I’ll find out sir.” was the prompt reply. The tech got up from her seat and took off for the door at a brisk walk using the opportunity to escape just in case James had taken offense at the banter.

Q watched her go then turned back to James, “Good thing you are here 007,” he said briskly. “I want your opinion on something I have in development.”

It was at times like this that James wondered about Q’s background. Q was a master at making people assume things which might or might not be true without actually lying. That was a skill that wasn’t developed into second nature, the way Q used it, without a reason. For example, he had just managed to provide a completely natural excuse for them to disappear into Q’s private lab for an hour or so. Unlike some of his predecessors it was normal for Q to actually involve the agents who would be using the equipment in the development process. He encouraged his staff to do the same and since he’d taken the helm of Q branch there had been a distinct reduction in the number of catastrophic equipment failures which pleased M no end. Given that background, no one when overhearing Q’s statement, would ever assume that Q and the 00 were going to do anything but consult on new equipment design.

James followed Q into his private lab. Q punched a few keys on a keypad and the door was locked with any surveillance turned off.

“So how was your run?” Q asked as he fished around in a box on his workbench for something.

“Three days and over 1,000 kilometers was a good stretch of the legs. Where did you hole up since you were so conveniently absent from the building during the infiltration exercise? Moneypenny told me you had originally planned to lock yourself in here.”

“I was beta testing a new piece of equipment.” Q held up a collar. “The test results were very promising.”

The tone of Q’s voice set off all sorts of alarm bells for James. He just knew that Q was trying to obscure something. James sighed to himself. It was going to be like that, was it? Q knew he couldn’t get away with a lie but that didn’t mean he’d volunteer any extraneous information. James mentally shifted into the mode he used on the rare occasion he dealt with the Fae folk. It was remarkably similar to his interrogation mode although quite a bit more polite. He’d just have to ask the right questions. “And just where were you beta testing this collar?”

“In the tunnels. It directs mobile cameras away from it and fudges the signals of static ones.”

Once again Q was attempting to derail his inquiry. James let a bit of his dominant nature into the next question to see if he could get a complete answer all in one go rather than piecemeal.

“Where else?”

There it was again, that vague feeling he’d had before. It was almost as if Q was deciding whether or not to comply with the implied order.

“Well I did also rig an exit to the riverbank that I had to test so I went for a run.”

James winced but before he could say anything Q continued, “I was on the way back when I bumped into John Watson and helped him rescue Sherlock Holmes, his flat mate, who was in danger of being dumped into the Thames.”

Oh wonderful, James thought to himself. I get shanghaied by circumstance into being a pack alpha; in return I acquire an insubordinate, socially inept werewolf with no perseveration instincts and a distinct lack of common sense. “You’ve been a wolf for all of 5 months and you felt you could go running about London without me? What if…”

“I needed to test the collar on not just our internal monitors but on a wide range of cameras. No better place to do that than the streets.” Q interrupted calmly.

“But you ended up in a dangerous situation. You are not indestructible you know!”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. There were only three humans. One ran away, I got one and Watson cold cocked the other.”

James could tell there was much more to it than that simple explanation. Something else had happened and Q was reluctant to tell him about it. “And?” he growled at Q putting almost the full force of his personality behind the word.

Q flinched slightly. “There was a water Fae that showed up just after we took down the thugs.”

“You didn’t think that was dangerous?”

“Watson had silver jacket blessed bullets, I could smell them. I knew if the Fae pushed it he was going to be in a world of hurt.”

James resisted the urge to rub his eyes. “And you didn’t think the Fae would simply glamour Watson and have him shoot you?”

“I would have run but it wasn’t necessary,” Q explained. “He tried to glamor Watson but it didn’t work. I think the original intent was to try to have Watson throw his flat mate in the river. My presence might have put a bit of a kink in that plan.”

“Any idea on how powerful the Fae was?”

Q thought for a moment, “He couldn’t get a mental hold on Watson immediately for some reason. I think he was going to try again however the MET showed up and raided the nightclub they’d abducted Mr. Holmes from. It was only a matter of time before they located us and the Fae knew it. He took off rather quickly. I don’t suppose he was too terribly powerful though; otherwise he wouldn’t have hired the humans to drug and kidnap Mr. Holmes.”

“Hired?”

“Yep. He muttered something about getting what you paid for in reference to the muscle we took out.”

“Did the Fae know you were a wolf?”

“Probably. He called me puppy and implied he wanted to eat me.

James was a bit concerned. The warehouses down by the river were a good place for wolves to run in the city. He’d have to warn Shaun about the potential of a wolf eating Fae in the area.

“You sure he was after Holmes?”

Q nodded emphatically. “He was very surprised by my appearance. Almost as surprised as he was by Watson’s defiance.” Q paused then continued, “I did a bit of digging when I got back here. You know Holmes consults for the MET? Well the only open case he has currently with them is a series of jewelry robberies with a homicide during one of them. They suspect Fae involvement. I wonder if Holmes was getting too close.”

James pondered for a moment. Sometimes the best way to break something loose on a mission was to prod the opponent into attacking. Had Mr. Sherlock Holmes done the same thing?

Q had continued to talk somehow not really noticing James’ momentary abstraction. “I put a flag on both cases. The open one as well as the assault charge. That way if the MET comes up with anything interesting I’ll be able to get the information. Unfortunately there won’t be any interrogation records for the two thugs in custody.”

“Oh?”

Q seemed oblivious to James’ growing unease. “There was a riot in the cells at the yard early yesterday morning,” he explained. “After everything calmed down they discovered several dead including our two thugs. What was even more interesting was that the surveillance cameras in the area were fried. Without seeing the electronics I won’t be able to tell why but given how the feed dropped out I suspect an EMP pulse similar to that put out by an angry member of the Fae community. The yard’s cameras are not hardened against that yet. They just don’t have the funds.”

“And you are still not concerned about this? Pulling off an assassination in a secure facility in is not easy.”

“I could do it without Fae magic,” Q replied. “Besides, I was just a side note as was Watson. The Fae was clearly after Homes.”

James sighed. The more he thought about the whole situation the more it bothered him. The Fae had a clear enough look at Q to determine what he was. It would be able to identify him by smell if not by sight. To be able to keep Q safe he’d need as much information about that Fae as possible. “Anything at all that might help get a lead on that Fae?” he asked.

“Well the thugs stonewalled during the initial intake interview. I’m going to need to get the raw audio. I know the yard doesn’t normally take video on initial interviews.”

“Why the audio?”

“Well I have this nifty little analytic program that should be able to tell us if the perpetrators were just stalling or if there was a geas involved.”

“But you said the Fae tried to put one on Watson. What makes you think he didn’t do so on these two?”

Q rolled his eyes. “What he tried to do with Watson was a compulsion. It only holds within a certain radius. A geas takes a lot more power and can survive for as little as a few days or as long as a lifetime.”

James was surprised. Q had more knowledge about the Fae than most people. Once again James wondered about Q’s upbringing. He tossed off this little tidbit of knowledge as if it were something every school child knew. James decided not to push now but he made a mental note to ask Q about his background sooner rather than later.

“So is there anything else you can tell me about this Fae with what you have now?” James asked.

“Smelled of stagnant water and horse. When it almost dropped its glamour it appeared to be relatively large and somewhat horse like. I can do some additional research to see if anything matches.” Q offered.

“Kelpie.” James said pulling the name out of his memories of childhood tales.

“Kelpie?”

“Scottish carnivorous water horse. They tend to have water plants somewhere about them regardless of the form they take.”

Q’s face went vague and abstracted. James had seen this before when Q wanted to remember something exactly. The Quartermaster didn’t appear to have an active eidetic memory but with a bit of work he somehow was able to access that part of his brain that stored memories in detail.

“I didn’t see any plant material however the stagnant water smell was somewhat redolent of decaying plant,” Q said still in his remembering mode. “Oh, and he has a friend or acquaintance named Magnus.”

“Magnus?”

“The Fae’s first words when he arrived were _Well, Magnus always says you get what you pay for_.”

James was shocked. “That’s twice I’ve run into that name and philosophy recently.”

“Oh?”

“Well I was removing the computer’s hard drive at the time but there was a note on the desk with a reminder to _hire the best regardless of cost per Magnus_.”

“Interesting.” Q turned to his computer, typed out a quick message and sent it off. “I’ve alerted the people analyzing the hard drive and the mobile to keep an eye out for the name. If it shows up that will be three occurrences of that name. I suspect at that point we’ll need to flag it as a person of interest. I suppose I’ll also need to take a look at those Yard’s cases in detail for any actionable intel.”

“Might be worth keeping tabs on Holmes and Watson in the meantime. That Fae may take another shot at them. We really need to know exactly who or what is running around expressing a desire to eat werewolves.”

Q typed a bit on his computer. “Done. They already have a surveillance detail I’ve just added myself to the notification list.”

“Why do a couple of MET consultants rate a surveillance detail? Are they a security risk?” James wondered aloud.

Q snorted, “You should be able to figure out the answer to that question especially given your recent jaunt to Seattle.”

“He’s related to Mycroft Holmes?”

“Yep.” Q clipped the terminal p for emphasis. “His younger brother.”

James made a mental note to tell Shaun about that connection and his eye was caught by the collar that was now sitting on the lab bench. That led to the sudden realization that Q had rather effectively derailed his lecture on the dangers of going out alone during the full moon.

Q noticed his focus and asked “Do you want me to make you one for your in town runs?”

“Might be a good idea.” James replied while thinking furiously.

It was clear once he had thought about it that Q was going through a phase common to most new wolves. Within the first several years of change most wolves started feeling indestructible. It usually didn’t hit quite this quickly but given how fast Q was adapting to his new physiology it was not terribly surprising. So what to do? Given Q’s apparent inability to instinctually understand werewolf social norms the normal method of trouncing him soundly in a fight wouldn’t really work. James was going to need to convince his human side and hope that Q could control the urges to run solo if James wasn’t around. He could tell that Q was already feeling slightly guilty for taking off. Add that to the fact that Q had not really considered the long term ramifications of his actions and suddenly James had a strategy that just might work.

“Speaking of jaunts,” James started in. “Despite your new status you are still in the top three of major assets for this agency. You know it’s not only unsafe but also against protocol to go running around the seedier side of London at night without a bodyguard.”

Q cocked his head, not understanding yet where James was going with this. In general Q tended to regard protocol as _guidance_ rather than _rules that must be followed_.

“It really wouldn’t do to give M the idea that you can’t control your instincts.”

Q cringed slightly. They both knew that if M thought Q was a danger to MI6 he would not hesitate to issue a termination order and that James was the most likely person to be assigned that particular duty. James could almost feel Q working through all the possible permutations and coming to the conclusion that running about unchaperoned during the full moon was not a particularly good idea.

Point made James continued, “In the future if I’m not around take Moneypenny or one of the other 00’s with you. You can pass as a large dog with that collar. No-one will look twice as long as someone is along with you carrying a lead.”

After another short pause to think Q replied, “That’s acceptable I suppose.” He didn’t look terribly pleased but after another short pause an impish look crossed his face. “I bet I could get some really good medical data on the 00’s that way!” he exclaimed.

It was James’ turn to wince at that. It looked like he’d unwittingly volunteered the entire 00 section to be Q and Medical’s latest research project.


	13. Avoidance Tactics

Q had never been more relieved that several missions had the potential to go into active mode all at once. This meant it was highly likely that he could avoid the annual ordeal known as _The Family Dinner_. For years his mother had insisted that he and his two brothers return to the family seat together at least once a year. Lately she had decreed that such event needed to occur near the holiday season. While it was amusing to watch his two older brothers snipe at each other in their perpetual game of one-up-manship this year had been shaping up to be an ordeal.

His mother had decreed that this year’s gathering would take place in the second week of December, less than a week before the full moon. To make matters worse his brothers were both going to attend. His highly observant brothers had been the bane of his existence growing up. There was no way in heck he was going to be able to hide the fact that something momentous had occurred in his life nor would he be able to hide his pre-moon edginess. Even if he managed to fool one of his brothers the other, most likely the oldest, would surely pick something up. Once that happened his middle brother would not rest until he ferreted out what had changed. Q was going to need an extremely good legend to satisfy that rampant curiosity. Adding the propensity for high stress situations to cause new wolves to _go furry_ , as James liked to call it, the potential for disaster was quite high.

Luckily his family, with its generations of government service, clearly understood the demands of Queen and Country. It wouldn’t be the first time one of them had not made it to a family get together because of one crisis or another. Even if the family didn’t know exactly what it was that he did they were aware that he was MI6 and mission support critical. Having to work was automatically accepted as a valid excuse so long as that was truly the case. While Q was reasonably certain he could fool his brothers about his work commitments there was no way in heck he could manage to lie to Mummy. However, if things went as expected at least one of the pending missions would need his input and he wouldn’t have to.

004’s infiltration of the Mumbai drug smuggling operation was shaping up nicely. She had managed to get access into the inner compound and had determined where the records were located. She had also in the process discovered that this operation was part of an even larger criminal enterprise. It appeared to have ties to not only other smuggling rings but also seemed to be connected in some manner to 003’s weapons dealers. Hopefully the documents themselves would allow them to figure out all the interrelationships.

The general plan was simple. Once 004 determined that the next shipment was ready Q branch would tip off the Indian government and assist them in organizing a raid. The ensuring confusion would give 004 the opportunity to scan the records. Agent 368, Toby Uchaia, as her errand runner would serve as backup and lookout. The tricky bit was going to be timing. 004 would need an uninterrupted window to do her job. In addition both agents were going to need to appear to escape the raid by the skin of their teeth. This would keep their covers intact and allow them to pursue any additional leads that developed.

Q typed in a set of orders. As soon as Toby checked in with the local station then the entire operation could commence. Speak of the devil and he appears, Q thought to himself as an alert posted to his computer screen. Agent 368 had just checked in.

Several hours later the initial set up was complete. Toby had managed a face to face with one of the station personnel. He was now carrying com gear for himself and 004 as well as a prototype signal booster that should, if it worked correctly, allow the coms units to punch through the ECM. The raid was scheduled for 02:30 IST. Prior to that 004 would infiltrate the inner compound, copy the documents and escape in the confusion.

By 18:40 GMT Q had his end of the operation set up to his satisfaction. The com room was staffed by himself and two of his techs, Ranger and Lynne. The branch work schedule had been rearranged to provide for breaks and personnel rotations of up to two days 24 hour coverage. Q’s office had been prepared so that he would not have to leave the building for however long the operation lasted even if he wasn’t directly involved. As a final step Q brought up both Ranger and Lynne’s screens on his secondary monitors so he could see what they were working on without leaving the main console. Lynne was looking at the latest branch e-mail. It had a spreadsheet attachment entitled _Feeding Schedule_ and as he watched she opened it. A simple list of times, suggested food and drink and a list of staff names appeared. The first line entry read 19:00 Tea and Max. Q smiled. It looked like the self-proclaimed _minions_ had an organized plan for the care of their erstwhile _evil-overlord_. Sure enough, at 18:57 Max walked into the com room with a cup of Earl Grey tea.

Q was chewing on a protein bar at 21:17 when the garbage started to hit the fan. 004 had entered the inner compound and was making good progress with scanning the documents. The signal booster was working perfectly. Ranger was keeping track of the raid preparations and Lynne had been monitoring the cell phone traffic into and out of the area around the compound.

“Local law enforcement is staged and ready to go.” Ranger reported.

“All’s quiet on the…wait a minute,” Lynne started switching screens and typing furiously. “We have a communications uptick in the compound starting with….Ah…a call to the Minister of Transportation’s mobile.”

Q noted that Ranger had split his screen and was tracing the source of the call.

“From a Deputy Inspector of the Mumbai police no less.” He added.

Q activated his mic. “004, 368 there’s been a leak. Things are going to get really crazy in a minute or two. Get yourselves out and to the extraction point ASAP.”

“On my way,” said 004.

“Roger” echoed Toby. “I’ll retrieve the booster and be on my way.”

Given the lack of technology within the compound Q would be blind and unable to direct either agent. All he could do was listen and pick them up as they exited. 004 was very quiet. Q couldn’t even hear her breathing. Toby on the other hand seemed to be simply strolling openly through the compound giving an occasional murmured greeting to someone he passed. This went on for several minutes until Q heard the sound of running feet over Toby’s com.

“Hey!” a male voice accosted Toby, “Where’s Mistress Cynthia?”

That was 004’s cover name.

“With a client,” Toby responded not missing a beat.

“Get the client out of here,” the voice ordered. “We are going to be raided in less than ten minutes!”

“Yes sir!” Toby responded and it sounded like he took off at a run. “Sorry sir,” he panted at Q a minute or so later, “I’m not going to be able to get your…Shit!”

There was a thump and a scrabbling sound then a crunch as Toby’s com feed went out. “Damn.” Q swore under his breath. There was no way to find out what had happened.

“I heard,” 004’s said immediately after Q’s swear, “I’m going over the wall. Shall I double back?”

Ranger chimed in on the conversation. “The police are already inside the main building.”

“Negative,” Q ordered. “Go onto the exfiltration point. We’ll have someone bail him out.” Q reassured 004.

******

Toby didn’t make the primary rendezvous at 03:00 IST. He also didn’t make the exfiltration point at 03:30. By 9:30 IST it was clear that he was not in custody nor was he one of the bodies pulled from the compound. As 004 was in route to the safe house they determined that Toby was not one of the persons injured when Q activated the self-destruct on the signal booster.

Once she got settled in the safe house, 004 took a couple of hours and looked at images of the injured and captured. She determined that Toby wasn’t the only member of the staff who had potentially escaped the compound. A couple of the high end escorts, a handful of security guards, the night manager and at least two members of the housekeeping staff were definitely missing from the group.

“The kid will turn up somewhere in a couple of days,” 004 remarked conversationally to Q. “He’s like a fox. There’ll be a tricky trail leading nowhere and he’ll turn up where you least expect him to be having raided the hen house on his way.”

004 was right. Less than 36 hours later Toby logged into one of the emergency contact sites from an internet café in Islamabad. He left a message indicating that his cover was still intact. That created a bit of a problem for Q. They were somewhat thin on the ground in Pakistan. Every local agent they had was busy and there was no one suitable at the embassy to ferry a new set of gear out to him.

Q thought for a moment then the solution presented itself. James had been gone for almost a week engaging in backstopping his arms dealer cover. He was now heading, via a roundabout route, to Islamabad where rumor had the weapons sale going down. 003’s erstwhile employer was allegedly looking for a particular type of buyer and practically every group in the market for major weaponry was converging on Pakistan jockeying for position.

Bond was currently in Tunisia. It would be a simple matter for him to get an extra set of gear and then convey it to Toby. It was a bit overkill to use a 00 agent as a courier pigeon but Q was a master at killing two birds with one stone. It had long been MI6 policy that any agent considered for A list status needed not only to be recommended for the program but also evaluated by one of the high level trainers or a senior agent. As he’d already forwarded Toby’s recommendation having James use this opportunity to evaluate the youngster in the field was just too good an opportunity to pass up. Decision made, Q quickly set up the logistics then contacted Bond.

*****

A mere 10 hours later found Q in his office eating a sandwich. Due to a variety of circumstances he hadn’t been out of the MI6 building since the Mumbai raid. The minions had extended the _Feeding Schedule_ spreadsheet and were also tracking his caffeine intake, rest periods and personal hygiene. Q didn’t quite know what to think about the obvious concern for his wellbeing but he did know that after this stint was over he’d need to make sure that the data disappeared.

“Good afternoon Q,” Bond’s voice over the coms was clear.

“Good morning 007,” Q replied since it was only 09:00 PKT in Islamabad. “Have you located 004’s missing assistant?”

“I have eyes on him right now. He’s being cautious but he hasn’t spotted me yet.”

“Tail him until you can safely make contact. I’ll need you to help me debrief him about the Mumbai operation. I suspect he’s got information we can use to track the next piece of that syndicate.”

“Will do. How obvious do you want me to be? Shall I attempt to find out if he’s as good as 004 said he was?”

“At your discretion 007,” Q said. “Just don’t give him a heart attack when you corner him.”

“You wouldn’t be considering him for A list status if getting cornered would phase him,” Bond replied.

Q snorted. It always amazed him how quickly 007 picked up on the unwritten subtext of any given situation. It was one of the things that made him so effective as a field operative. Q hadn’t told James that he was going to want his assessment of Agent 368’s, suitability but Bond had figured it out anyway.

Q settled back in his chair. The next few minutes were going to be very interesting Q thought. Due to the lack of camera coverage in Islamabad Q would have to rely primarily on Bond’s tracker. Real time satellite surveillance and the occasional ground level video feed would be used as they were available. Most of his information, however, would need to come through Bond’s communications. Q idly watched Bond’s tracker move through the streets, presumably following Tobias, as he finished his sandwich. His timing was impeccable. No sooner had he swallowed the last bite washing it down with a sip of tea, when there was a set of rather distinctive sounds over the coms. Bond was in a fight.

“Settle down I’m not going to kill you.” Q heard Bond growl followed by a grunt. “I said settle down!”

Judging by the sounds Q thought that his interference at this point would not be welcome so he kept silent. His supposition proved to be right.

“If I’d known you were going to try and ambush me I’d have gone with the recognition codes. 004 said you were smart enough not to fight when you couldn’t win.”

The sounds of struggle stopped abruptly followed by a faint “Who the hell are you?” presumably from Toby.

“Bond, James Bond. I don’t think we’ve been introduced yet.”

Q noticed something on the satellite feed and broke in, “Get yourselves out of there 007. I think your fight hasn’t gone unnoticed. There appears to be a Pakastani army squad heading your way.”

“Roger that,” Bond replied. “Here. Put these on and let’s move.”

Q watched as Bond’s tracker started to move at a quick pace. A moment later the second com feed went live.

“Check?” Toby’s voice sounded tired and stressed but despite that he was still following protocol and determining if the com gear was live.

“Good morning Agent 368. Nice of you to join us this morning.”

“Eerp! Morning Quartermaster.”

From Toby’s strangled sound Q guessed that he’d not been expecting Q himself on the other end of the line.

“Gentlemen,” continued without a pause, “The army squad has split in an attempt to locate your altercation. I suggest you take a left at the next junction to avoid them.”

“Not an option Q. We are going to have to wing this one,” Bond said a moment later. He had apparently spotted something that Q couldn’t pick up with his limited surveillance coverage. “Come on Obito let’s see what you are made of.”

Obito? Q brought up Toby Uchaia’s file. Yep. There it was. Tobias was the name he’d chosen for himself when he’d entered school. His school mates had shortened it to Toby. Obito was his given name. Now how had Bond come up with that particular piece of information? Q accessed the file log. The file had last been looked at by someone in Tunisia, one of the staff analyst’s computers from the location. Bond had either lifted a password or charmed a staff member. If it was the former Q would need to have words with the Tunisian station chief; if the latter, well the biological group hadn’t yet developed an antidote to the 00’s seduction techniques.

Q settled down to monitor his two agents. It was ten minutes of active avoidance of the army and the local police followed by three hours of tedium as the agents made doubly sure that they were not being tailed before the two men made it to Bond’s suite. He’d kept quiet for the entire time trusting Bond to have the situation well in hand. Q suspected, from the occasional words exchanged between the two men that Toby had completely forgotten about the open line.

Once the obligatory search for electronic listening devices had been performed James spoke to him directly, “How do you want to do the debrief Q?”

Toby made that strangled sound again. It seemed to be his default noise when startled. Q doubted that he even realized he did it. Something that the trainers would need to work on with him. Q made a note. It wouldn’t do for someone to have an obvious tell like that. Men had died for less.

“Let’s use audio only.” Bond would understand but for Toby’s sake Q explained his reasoning. “I don’t trust the video connection even with our encryption. It is too easy for someone to see the size of the packets and transmission rates and cut us off on general principle when they realize that they can’t get to our content.”

“Check,” Bond replied then asked Toby “You want a drink?”

Toby responded in the affirmative and Q could hear the sounds of ice and liquids in glasses.

Once the agents were settled they started in on the debrief. Bond was efficient and effective. He asked all the right questions, honing in on essential points and waiving off trivial details. Q supposed it was the net result of having been on the other side of the process more times than could be counted. The only thing that was not quite _by the book_ was the alcohol being consumed. About an hour in Q realized what Bond was doing. Toby was strung out from being on the run. He was nervous and in awe of Bond. James was applying just enough of his famous charm which, in conjunction with the alcohol, made the entire exercise go quite a bit smoother. Too bad they couldn’t do this here, Q thought to himself. The speed and quality of debrief in many cases would improve substantially.

Surprisingly agent Uchaia, despite his inexperience, wasn’t too bad at the debrief process. Once he had relaxed a bit his answers were concise and if he didn’t know something he freely admitted his ignorance. As the process went on he became more and more comfortable started to offer his own analysis of certain people and events. Q really appreciated that he was always careful to indicate when something was fact as opposed to his impressions. As far as intelligence was concerned nothing Q heard contradicted what they’d got from 004 and the documents. Unfortunately there was nothing much new either until Bond asked how he’d managed to get out of the compound and all the way to Islamabad.

“Luck,” Toby admitted. “Luck and family.”

Bond made a _go on_ noise and there was the sound of another drink being poured.

“Thanks,” acknowledged Toby. “It was just a fluke,” he continued. “I’d been chatting up one of the accounting staff, Rachel, earlier in the day and she had mentioned that they’d had a comp request come through because some big-wig of one of the companies they purchase from was coming through. She was grumbling because she was going to have to do a bunch of paperwork for nothing because this particular supplier never took advantage of the freebie. Well I asked which supplier, just on a whim, and she told me. I was somewhat surprised that it was a company I knew.”

“What company?” asked Bond.

“Allied Export Enterprises,” Toby replied. “It’s a mostly legitimate import/export operation nominally out of Hong Kong. It’s run by my cousin. Well, he isn’t really my cousin. More like a second cousin once removed via marriage or something. He’s the step-son of my great aunt’s daughter in-law but we played together a lot when we were kids so we always called each other cousin.”

Q could almost hear Bond blink at that. Uchaia’s file had dearth of relations most of them being dead. But then again usually the background check didn’t normally go into sixth degree indirect relations. Someone had clearly missed that connection in Toby’s background check. Q made a note to himself about adding a _childhood friends_ subroutine to the automated portion of the vetting process for new employees.

Toby, oblivious to Q’s musings, continued, “Well, anyway, I got out of the compound with Tanya who was part of the housekeeping staff. She ended up taking me to her aunt’s house. She’d been feeding her aunt’s pets while the aunt was off on a pilgrimage and we figured it would be safer than going to her flat because that address might have been in the employment files. Didn’t get much sleep but...” Toby paused and took a drink.

The look on his face must have told its own tale because Bond chuckled knowingly. Q could infer that most of the remainder of the night had included a bit of _oh my god we escaped_ sex.

“The next morning I set out to stake out the AXE company offices. My cousin is generally an early bird as opposed to a night owl. If the big-wig in question was him he’d be in early. Well, the big-wig did turn out to be my cousin and he fronted me some papers, money and sent me out as a courier of some goods to Dubai. On the way I ended up making friends with the pilot and he wrangled a ride for me with a friend of his from Dubai to Bahrain. The friend and an application of cash got me on a flight to Islamabad.”

Q had to marvel. That was such 00esq series of events.

Apparently Bond thought so too because he laughed out loud, “You trying to make me look bad? You don’t have a scratch on you. Usually when I pull an escape like that it involves some sort of vehicle chase and an injury or two.”

Q had to chime in at that, “Well he was as hard on the equipment as you are 007.”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Toby sounded contrite. I got knocked down in the hall and the earwig fell out. I ended up having to crush it because picking it up would have been noticed and I just couldn’t get to the repeater without running right into the arms of the police.”

“All I ask is that you don’t make a habit of it like someone I know,” Q couldn’t resist taking the dig.

Bond chuckled, “But without me you wouldn’t know how your equipment holds up to extreme conditions Q!”

“Extreme conditions my arse,” Q muttered. “I don’t design firearms for their ability to survive being eaten by Komodo Dragons.”

Toby started to giggle at that and seemed to have a hard time stopping. When he finally managed to catch his breath he asked Bond “What the hell did you put in this?”

“Vodka” Bond replied. “You’ve got adrenaline crash. The alcohol is hitting you harder than normal. Why don’t you go clean up and get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

“Oh. Ok.” Toby replied then added “Signing off.” as he removed the earpiece.

There was quiet for several minutes before Bond spoke softly. “He’s in the shower. I drugged his last drink. He’s going to pass out in twenty minutes or so. I doubt he’s slept for more than an hour at a stretch more than three times in the last 48. I’ll play guard dog tonight. The weather is clear here and I’d prefer not to do reconnaissance in full moonlight. Odds of being spotted are too great.”

“Probably better to stay put then. It’s supposed to be foggy here. I’m going jogging with Alec.” Q offered in turn.

“Good. You need more exercise,” was Bond’s response.

Plans for the full moon conveyed, however obliquely due to the mission record, Q decided to change the subject.

“Your rough assessment?”

“The kid has serious potential if he learns to pace himself.”

“I’ll put your recommendation in then. You’ll need to write it up formally though.”

“More paperwork. Wonderful” Bond grumbled. “I suppose there’s no way to avoid it.”


	14. Let Sleeping Detectives Lie

John Watson was worried. He was currently sitting in a cab on the way back to Baker Street and Sherlock had fallen asleep, again. It had been over four weeks since Sherlock had been drugged and almost dumped in the Thames to drown. As far as medical tests could tell the drug was completely out of Sherlock’s system but he was still falling asleep at odd times and places. This from a man who often wouldn’t sleep more than fifteen minutes at a stretch for days on end when he was on a case. Now he’d randomly fall asleep in cabs, on the sofa, in Lestrade’s office and once rather memorably at a crime scene.

After the first few times John had insisted on a blood test to make sure the GHB was completely gone and had started keeping track of the incidents. He wasn’t 100% sure but it seemed to be related to Sherlock using his memory palace. Sherlock would get that abstracted look on his face that normally indicated he was searching for something in his mind. Most of the time he’d come out of it with a new series of deductions on his lips but about one time out of five he’d simply fall asleep. It was strange that when he was woke, either on his own or by someone waking him, he would act just as if he had surfaced from the depths of his mind palace normally. John hadn’t been able to correlate the episodes to anything particular. There seemed to be no relationship to the situation, time of day, the amount of time spent before falling asleep or even the type of information he’d presumably been seeking as indicated by his deductions upon coming awake. Sherlock himself was no help. When John had confronted him about it all he had said was that he was _cleaning the remnants of the drugging incident out of his mind_ , that he’d done similar things before and that John wasn’t to worry.

John moved over in the cab and wrapped an arm around his flat mate. Sherlock didn’t wake up he simply sighed shifted closer and laid his head on John’s shoulder. That was another worrisome difference. While Sherlock had never been one to pay much attention to personal space, his own or anyone else’s, his touches were relatively impersonal. Even his snagging food off John’s plate had been done with a professional air; more like a pick-pocket than anything else. Since the drugging incident Sherlock had not only initiated more physical contact but had also included more personal touches as he did so. A squeeze on the arm as he maneuvered John out of his way, a soft thank you after having John dig his phone out of a pocket because his hands were occupied, a flash of a grin when stealing the last prawn off John’s plate and now here in the cab what John could only refer to as snuggling.

John tightened his grip slightly as the cab turned a corner. Sherlock, still asleep, shifted in response snaking one of his long arms behind John’s back. As he did so his coat and scarf gapped open a bit and John caught a glimpse of a chain around Sherlock’s neck; a chain that lead to John’s dog tags. John didn’t quite know what to make of that either. Ever since he’d put them around Sherlock’s neck in the hospital Sherlock, to John’s knowledge, hadn’t taken them off. He had reciprocated though. When they’d returned to Baker Street from the hospital John had found an engraved bone disk in his pocket. His senses told him that it was old and imbued with powerful protective magics. He’d liberated a leather bootlace, since it didn’t work very well if you mixed organic and inorganics in protective gear be it mundane or magical, and made it into the amulet when he now wore around his neck. Judging from the look of approval Sherlock had shot him when he had spotted the amulet later that evening the disk had indeed been a gift.

 The cab came to a stop in front of 221 and John shook Sherlock slightly. He woke with a start, disentangled himself from John and exited the cab all without saying a word. Of course John was left to pay, per usual. The extra 20 quid in his wallet was a surprise as was the fact that Sherlock was patiently holding the door to the hall open for him. John consciously extended his magical sight and took a good look. Sherlock glowed slightly due to the protections on the dog tags and from something in his pocket. He was clearly not under a spell. Well that was good.

John trailed Sherlock up the stairs and into their flat. After hanging his coat and scarf on the hook by the door Sherlock moved to stand in front of the sitting room wall. He had tacked pieces of paper and photos all over the wall and connected them with bits of colored yarn. All in all it looked like some demented piece of modern art. In actuality it was a physical representation of Sherlock’s investigation into the jewelry thefts and murder of Mr. Parker.

John couldn’t recall the last time a case had been up on the wall this long. Usually Sherlock’s case solving was measured in days or weeks not the two months they’d been at this one. Then again it was somewhat understandable since he was working with a serious dearth of information. In fact since the probable Grey Lord had visited Sherlock’s Fae contacts had all but dried up. The only thing they’d been able to get from one lowly brownie was that _the powers_ had decreed that Sherlock was _off limits_ and _not to be spoken to until further notice_. The brownie had told this all to John while Sherlock was standing right there within earshot. By talking only to John the brownie could truthfully say that he had not talked to Sherlock and thus had complied with the edict. The MET’s Fae liaison wasn’t getting any substantive information either. Just rumors and hints that all seemed to pan out when investigated. Sherlock had even been reduced to asking Mycroft who could only confirm that there was some sort of power shift happening rather high up in the Fae hierarchy and that until things settled no real information would be forthcoming.

Even the entire drugging incident, though it was clearly connected, hadn’t given them any more information. At the time it had happened Sherlock had been chasing down a fence who was known to deal both in loose gemstones of questionable providence and with the Fae. Given the fact that the jewelry had not turned up in any of the usual places the working hypothesis had been that the pieces had been disassembled to obtain the gems from the magical cup. Selling the rest of the gems and melting down the metals would be logical. Unfortunately the fence had been a dead end literally. He’d passed away from stomach cancer the week before Sherlock had walked into the bar. The two thugs that had been caught were also of no help as they both had perished in a riot that had broken out in the cells at the MET before Sherlock could question them. John hadn’t got a good look at the third man but what he had observed didn’t match any of the two deceased thugs known associates. In fact everything they’d found out about the two thugs indicated that they were just muscle for hire. The tenuous connection to the Fae hate group Brighter Future was just that, they’d hired the men as bouncers for an event.

Sherlock sighed. “I’m slow. I’m missing something,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

Oh great, John thought to himself, another thing to worry about. Sherlock had in the past indicated that his substance abuse had been a measure to regulate his brain performance through self-medication; opiates to calm things down and cocaine to speed things up. When he was the frustrated like this was when he was most tempted to revert to his prior pattern of abuse. John wondered if he should call Lestrade and have him stage a drugs search just in case.

“Say, where did you figure those two,” John gestured at the pictures of the two thugs, “got the GHB?”

“Since it was magically modified they must have got it from their Fae employer that you met in the alley or from his boss.”

“But what if they didn’t?”

“Then how would it have been magically modified? That’s not just something that happens by accident.”

“Some of the best scientific discoveries happened by accident you know. Mold growing in a contaminated petri dish.”

“Contamination….” Sherlock’s face had that abstracted look he got when he was thinking hard. “To make the GHB do what it did Mycroft’s colleague said it needed to be a powerful Fae or an item. GHB is a liquid. Liquids can pick up contamination, including magical contamination, from the vessels they are stored in. The GHB may have been stored in an item that gave it the properties.” John didn’t think Sherlock even realized he was vocalizing his thoughts.

Sherlock suddenly started moving. He rummaged around in the desk drawer and came up with some purple yarn. He then grabbed a half filled mug of tea and set it on the bookcase next to the wall and proceeded to run purple yarn from the cup handle to several of the items on the wall including the pictures of the two dead thugs. He then stood back and admired his handiwork.

“If it’s not the Fae employer then we are left with our two thugs. There was nothing that indicated any connection to the drug trade. Unusual considering the business they were in but not impossible. Logically our third man is the connection. We trace the drug, we find the third man.” Sherlock pivoted and started for the door.

John moved to block his way. “I think you need to fill me in on what exactly you intend.”

Before the hiatus, as Sherlock had taken to calling the two years he’d been officially dead, Sherlock would have just pushed on past, grabbed his coat and expected John to follow regardless. After his return from the hiatus he would have muttered a word or phrase which didn’t really explain anything and then asked imperiously if John were coming along. Lately the explanations had become more elaborate, he’d often utter a whole sentence or two before expecting John to follow in his wake. This time however Sherlock just stopped and looked, really looked, at him in that way he did when he was going to deduce someone.

John hoped to hell that he wouldn’t have to say anything; that Sherlock would be able to tell what he was thinking and why he was asking simply by observing. He hoped Sherlock could see the _I’m concerned_ and the _I don’t want to go into a situation blind_. John really didn’t mind if he also got _I need to know to be able to protect you_ and _I don’t want to lose you again not to drugs, not to anything_. At this point he didn’t even care if Sherlock deduced the _I love you_ inherent in all the other statements. The childlike Fae had been correct, anwylion indeed.

It only took a moment before Sherlock breathed “Oh!” looking slightly stunned for an instant before he recovered and started in. “I need to know if any of the modified GHB or other modified drugs are ending up for sale on the street. I have a contact that should be able to tell me. If he can’t he’ll know who to ask. If we hurry we can catch him tonight.”

“This contact is from when you were using?” John asked. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Yes.”

“And he’s not going to try and collect on some old debt or something on sight?”

“No.”

“And you are not…”

“No.”

John sighed and reached for the coats. “Let’s go then,” he said as he tossed Sherlock his.

It was a quick cab ride. Sherlock didn’t fall asleep and they were out on the pavement in front of a seedy looking pub called the Sheared Sheep. Sherlock looked at his watch then set off heading for an alley to the right of the pub. John noticed that he was ambling rather than going at his normal stride almost as if he was timing his arrival at the alley’s mouth. He was. Just as he was at the edge of the alley mouth a straggly haired man carrying an apron exited.

The man took one look at Sherlock and muttered “No” while turning to dart back into the alley. John had anticipated this and had cut off his retreat forcing him to turn so he could watch both of them.

“Liam,” said Sherlock.

“No, No, No, Sherl,” the man sputtered “I can’t, I won’t, the Umbrella will kill me!”

“Liam,” Sherlock said in a soothing voice, “You don’t need to panic. I’m after information. That’s why we are in plain sight.” He nodded at a local CCTV camera which, John noted, had obligingly turned to focus on the group.

Liam noticed also and went pale. “Oh shit I’m screwed,” he muttered half to himself.

Just then John’s mobile vibrated in his pocket. Without taking his eyes off Liam he fished out his phone and raised it so he could see the text.

It read: _Are you sure this is necessary? MH_

John glanced up at the CCTV camera and mouthed, _Butt out Mycroft. I’ve got this_. If Mycroft Holmes didn’t read lips he damn well had someone who could on his staff.

In the meantime Sherlock had continued with his one sided conversation. “Has anyone been dealing stuff that’s more effective recently? Something better than usual, bigger high, different side effects perhaps?”

“Nn…not really,” Liam sputtered finally responding.

“Rumors? Hints? Something going for a lot more than usual?”

“Uh…well…’ya know there’s talk that there’s some new rave stuff out. Just different enough to not be on the list yet. The cookbook isn’t out. Someone may be trying to go the sole supply route. They think they’re the only one who’s tried that. Never works. It’s supposed to be real potent tho. Not my line so I don’ know much.”

Liam was shifting back and forth on his feet. John knew he was just looking for an opportunity to take a runner but he didn’t think he could make it.

“So if they are being exclusive who’s dealing it?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. I don’t run with that crowd no more.” He glanced up at the camera. “I’m a solid citizen with a job and everything,” he waived his apron for emphasis.

“I’m sure you are,” Sherlock agreed meeting John’s eyes.

John interpreted the eye contact and miniscule jerk of the head as a signal for him to move back to Sherlock’s side. Liam, of course, used that as an excuse to take off running. John took a glance at Sherlock to see if they were following but it was clear from his relaxed posture that they were not.

Instead Sherlock tapped one finger to his lips twice then said, “Let’s walk back.”

They walked a couple blocks in silence then Sherlock started varying their route as if actively looking for something or someone. He found it in the form of a homeless man digging through a bin in an alley. Judging by the way Sherlock approached, it was one of his network and John held back. Some of the members of the network were still a bit skittish around anyone other than Sherlock. After a short low voiced conversation Sherlock slipped his informant some money. John heard quiet _Will do Guvnor_ as the man walked off. He raised an eyebrow in question.

“I set them to verify Liam’s information and to see if they can get a lead on who’s selling the new stuff.” He pulled out his mobile and started to text. “I’ll have Wiggins on standby to make contact if it’s someone he knows.”

 “So,” John had to ask, “Are we done for the night?”

“Yep.” Sherlock clipped the terminal p.

“You think I might be able to convince you to eat while we wait for information?”

Sherlock snorted, “How many times must I tell you John, it’s just transport.”

“A lorry needs petrol and your body needs fuel if you are going to keep going.” John turned at the corner. “Come on, there’s that good Vietnamese place a block or two over.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but followed without complaint.


	15. Out of the Frying Pan

If anyone had been observing a particular hotel room in Islamabad on this particular morning they would have been incredibly bored. All they would have observed was a business man working intermittently on his laptop. What was actually going on however was quite a bit more interesting. James had occasionally been on the Q-Branch side of an operation but never before had he been linked in from the field. He was listening in on Q and a couple of his minions as they backed Toby in his attempt to contact 003 and it was a completely different experience.

Originally the contact with 003 had been Bond’s task but overnight the _on the ground_ situation had changed dramatically. It seemed that many of the world’s terrorist and insurgent groups had heard about the arms sale and sent a representative or two to see if they could get in on the action. A couple of those representatives were on the _terminate if convenient_ list and M had authorized 007 to go after them. As a result, Bond was going to need to move at a moment’s notice once either analysis or Q-branch came up with actionable intel. That left a problem in how to get information and gear to 003. Using Toby was the obvious solution. He was rather sanguine about the whole situation simply noting that the traditional reward in this business for a job well done was another job, usually a harder one.

Toby’s mission was relatively simple, get 003 the location of a dead drop and let him know that 007 was in town. Since 00’s were involved it was inevitable that things didn’t go according to plan.

“Looks like he’s waiting for someone,” Toby sounded calm. “I’m going to hang back until the meet is done. I don’t want to chance being spotted by his contact.”

Bond nodded to himself. He would have done the same.

“Wow,” Toby sounded surprised. “I never would have expected that.”

“Report 368.” Q’s voice snapped the order.

“The woman 003 is talking to is Rachael the accountant from the Crimson Lotus. Judging from the body language it looks like she’s higher on the food chain than he is!”

“Well that confirms the connection,” Bond commented knowing that Q-branch would hear him but Toby wouldn’t unless Q tied him in directly.

“Get me everything you can on this Rachael,” Q ordered his minions. “368 stay put for now and observe.”

“Roger.”

It was less than five minutes before Bond heard a female voice say “She came in on an Emirates flight late last night using the name Divya Jayaraman. Looks like she flew straight from Mumbai with a layover in Dubai.”

“How did you get that so fast?” Bond recognized the voice as Max, one of Q’s top hackers.

“Lavatories,” said the female voice.

“Pardon?” Q sounded confused.

“Most women avoid airplane lavatories sir. With a three hour flight, a three hour layover in Dubai followed by another three hour flight the first thing a normal female would do upon deplaning is head for the loo.” Bond recognized the female voice now. It was Lynne, the minion who’d had the zombie jellyfish theory.

“I got lucky and snagged her on the first set of tape I accessed,” she continued. “Once I determined her flight number I back checked Mumbai with a cross reference for females traveling alone and found her alias.”

“I’m moving. It looks like they are wrapping up,” Toby commented. “I think I’ll try and…oh shit, she’s made me. I’m off!”

Bond could tell that that things were quite hectic on the Q-Branch end as Q and his team attempted to get visual on Toby, 003 and/or Rachael. He wished that security would have allowed him to get a visual feed from Q branch rather than just the audio. Watching Q work in a time critical, high stress situation was always interesting. Whenever he saw it Bond was reminded of something he saw once; a conductor of a symphony orchestra directing while simultaneously playing a solo on multiple keyboards.

In a shorter time than Bond expected he heard Q’s talking to Toby. “003 is still on your tail about a block back. I suggest you let him catch you and make contact. His orders appear to be to capture and deliver given Rachel’s subsequent actions. She is returning to her hotel.”

It was only a minute or two later when Toby made a pained sound and James heard Mason’s voice, “Got’cha. Stop squirming. The lady just wants to talk to you.”

“I only want to talk to her if she’s in her pajamas,” Bond heard Toby pant out. He was attempting to use one of the fall back recognition sequences.

“I doubt you’d be so lucky,” 003 responded.

“If I were lucky she’d not only be in pajamas but they’d be pink too!”

Judging from Toby’s voice it sounded to Bond like Mason had let up a bit on his hold but still had him up against a wall.

“Who the hell are you?”

“368 out of Station Y”

“A little bit out of your jurisdiction aren’t you?”

“Long story. Anyway 007 is in town and I have the location of a dead drop for you.”

“Bout time.” 003 grumbled.

Q broke into the conversation then with a simple “Pass the coms to 003 please.”

Toby transferred the ear piece that was masquerading as an over the ear blue-tooth cell phone headset to 003 and Bond listened in to one of Q’s rapid fire updates. He was always amazed at Q’s ability to filter an astronomical amount of information down to the essential bits that an agent absolutely needed to know.

“So how do we want to play this?” Mason asked when Q was finished.

Bond just knew what 003 was going to suggest. He’d want to use Toby as a way to get close to this Rachael/Divya character. Surprisingly 003 didn’t even get to raise the issue.

“I’m in if you want me,” Toby’s voice was faint but audible.

003 sighed, “I don’t know if that’s viable.” Presumably he was addressing Toby. You don’t have an implant for protection and at least two of the inner circle are moderately powerful Fae.”

“Give me 24 and I can get him something that” Q started only to be interrupted by Toby.

“I’ve got a medallion. I’ve had it for years. It seems to work just fine.”

“Against what,” 003 asked.

“Well I can tell if someone is glamoured but I can’t see through it and I can ignore a force backed direct order.”

“That’s similar to what we could provide” Q commented.

Bond decided that he needed to break in at that point. “Q, can you patch me through?

“Will do 007.”

There were a couple of clicks and Bond could hear the slight echo that meant there was a fully live connection.

“003?”

“007” Mason acknowledged.

“Your thoughts?”

“I could use him. It would make some things a lot easier including getting word out if things go tits up.”

“Is it liable to?” James was curious as to Mason’s assessment.

“Can’t tell. It’s a rather strange set up. Only the inner-circle, ten or so people, have contact with boss in person. The inner-circle group is rather segregated with each person specializing in a particular type of operation. Everything below a certain level is set up in cells with only one or two points of contact. I only know a few of the inner-circle members because I’m running security for one of them. He trusts me but the rest of them I’ve met are wary. As near as I can tell if any of the inner-circle gets taken out damage is immediately contained to them and their direct staff. If one of the other inner-circle doesn’t vouch for and take on the staff then they are terminated with prejudice.”

“Interesting.”

“Yeah, and what’s strange is that there is no real jockeying for position among the inner-circle or their personal staff. I don’t know what the boss has on them but he somehow keeps them all in line and doesn’t hold with in-fighting.”

“Hmph.” James digested that bit of information then said “Pass the coms back to our young friend.”

A couple moments later Toby’s voice came in loud and clear, “Yes?”

“You know you don’t have to prove anything,” Bond said. “You have not been trained for this and no one will judge you harshly if you back out now. Hopping out of the frying pan and into the fire is not a part of your job description.” Toby made a derisive noise at the last but James continued, “003 and I can improvise. It’s what we do best and in part why we have the designation.”

“I know,” Toby responded “But it will be a lot easier with me than without and 004 gave me a crash course in undercover support operations. I can handle it.”

“It’s your call.” It was clear from the young man’s tone that James wasn’t going to be able to talk him out of taking on the task. “007 out.”

Q took the cue and cut Bond’s connection completely. He didn’t need to know the details of 003 and Toby’s contact plan. Q would relay anything that was pertinent to his new mission.

As he shut down the computer Bond had a sudden realization. Shaun had been entirely correct. Judging from his overreaction to Toby’s volunteering James psychologically considered himself an Alpha. That instinctive urge to protect was classic pack leader behavior. It was now clear that his subconscious considered a number of people from MI6 to be his pack and Toby was now included. It didn’t really matter that only one of them was a wolf, they were his to worry about, protect and guide in as much as duty to Queen and Country would allow. A second realization came close on the heels of the first, he was going to need to find something to do until his targets were located otherwise he’d be tempted to horn in on 003’s plan so that he would be positioned to rescue both of them if necessary.

With that thought in mind James decided that an early lunch might be in order. It would give him an excuse to observe the comings and goings into the hotel. Given the fact that a good portion of the groups interested in the weapons were clearly not from this area of the world if he were lucky he might be able to spot one or more. There were only so many places in Islamabad where a foreigner could fit in and this high end hotel was one of them. If he were really lucky he’d see someone he knew under his Brandon James cover and be able to get some human intelligence about who was in town and where they were staying.

An hour or so later Bond was just about ready to conclude that lady luck was not going to smile in his direction when a Russian accented voice said “Ah, Mr. James. I wondered if I’d find you here.”

Bond turned to find himself face to face with Konstantin Ivanov, a Russian businessman with a variety of shady connections all over the territory of the former Soviet Union. Allegedly he was a supplier to a variety of separatist groups but the Russian government had never been able to pin anything on him. James had met the oligarch in person once briefly. At the time he’d been attempting to track down a leak in the British arms industry using the Brandon James cover. By the end of the mission he had ended up dealing permanently with a couple of Ivanov’s lieutenants who were freelancing on the side. Unfortunately, he also had not been able to tie either the leak or the lieutenants’ actions back to the oligarch.

Bond smiled and inclined his head, “Mr. Ivanov.”

“I had heard you were back in business from an acquaintance. I must admit that when you disappeared I wondered if you had suffered a serious setback.”

“Nothing so dire.” James glanced casually about identifying four bodyguards. Three were scattered relatively unobtrusively about the room while the fourth was being blatantly obvious at several feet back from Ivanov’s right shoulder.

“I took some time off for personal reasons,” Bond continued smoothly. The cover Q had set up involved a drug war in South America and a personal feud resulting in Mr. James having to lay low for a year or so.

“I hope that things were resolved.”

“They were. I’m curious though as to why you are here. It was my understanding that most of your business dealings in this area were handled by your associates.”

Konstantin shrugged. “Sometimes it is best to handle things personally.”

“Too true, especially when the business opportunities are on a large scale.”

“The larger the deal the more fierce the competition which requires a finer touch than most of my associates are able to provide.”

James was thinking fast. If the deal was big enough to pry Ivanov out of Russia then Bond’s cover identity would logically not be among the power players. His presence would be suspect unless he could provide a viable reason for being in town.

“Well I wish you luck. Unfortunately my business partners do not have the capital to engage on that scale.”

“So why are you here then?” Ivanov was clearly curious.

“When someone purchases a high priced item they often look to economize elsewhere. I suspect that my partners might be able to assist in that effort.”

Konstantin smiled at that, “Ah, astute strategy. I definitely will keep that in mind.”

“Much obliged. I’m assuming that you have the inside track?”

“Preliminary indications are favorable but as I mentioned the competition is somewhat cut-throat.”

“Oh?” Bond decided to push for a bit more information.

“Islamabad for all its charms can be a dangerous city even for those who are native to the area. Why just yesterday I heard a sheik from one of the tribal areas was killed in the crossfire of a feud between rival gangs. In some ways it is even worse for those of us who have traveled farther distances and have limited contacts in the area.”

“I imagine your associates would prove invaluable in the area of local contacts.”

“You might think so but I have had a difficult time replacing a couple I lost in Chad almost a year and a half ago now. If my reports are correct you were in the area at about the same time…hmm?”

Oh, James had been in the area alright. He’d been the one who had set up Ivanov’s associates to take the fall for an operation he’d pulled off. At the time he’d not even known the men had belonged to Ivanov and he’d not been using his arms dealer cover. He must have been caught on camera or more likely he’d been spotted by someone in the organization who later had recognized him and put two and two together. He’d need to determine just how much information Konstantin had about those deaths.

“A similar situation to the present I fear,” Bond remarked neutrally to stall for time.

“But you survived while they did not. It makes me think your capacity for finesse is much greater than theirs was. I am a great appreciator of competence.”

James breathed an internal sigh. Based on Konstantin’s demeanor and the oblique job offer he didn’t have anything to connect Bond to the deaths. James was a bit surprised at the offer. Historically Ivanov preferred to train his own from scratch rather than acquire services of established criminals. He must have a serious hole in his organization that he needed to fill quickly. Now the problem was going to be how to politely decline without closing the door completely.

“Competence is often underappreciated but loyalty is more often noticed,” Bond replied with a smile. “If you are not in a hurry perhaps we could discuss such issues in more depth someday.”

He started to continue when his mobile went off in his pocket. James pulled it out and looked at the number. It was one of the false numbers used by Q-branch for outgoing calls.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment?” he asked.

Konstantin made a gesture of acceptance.

“Hello?”

“Hello Brandon,” R’s voice purred in his ear. For a woman pushing 50 she still had a voice that rivaled the most sultry offering of a phone sex business. “Are you busy tonight?”

The fact that R had called him on an open line when he’d deliberately not been on the coms meant that something important was up.

James replied in the same tone, “Oh Melanie. I’m sorry love, I’m out of town on business. Shall I call you when I get back?”

“You’d better call me as soon as you get back; sooner if you can manage it.”

Interesting, whatever it was had a time sensitive component.

“It may be a week or even two depending.”

“I’ll wait. You are always worth the wait.” R managed to make that simple sentence sound indecent.

So twenty minutes or so was not going to matter much. Good, Bond thought. That would give him time to wrap things up with Ivanov and get to a secure location.

“I look forward to it my dear.”

“Ta.” R responded and rang off.

“Melanie?” Ivanov inquired with a knowing smirk.

“Curvaceous blond, London,” Bond explained knowing that Ivanov was remembering a certain buxom ginger that had been on his arm when they had met before. “Not quite so stunning but she has other useful attributes.” Bond grinned and raised an eyebrow. Of course a PhD in chemistry and being one of the best explosives experts in MI6 could be described as having other useful attributes even if they weren’t the type he’d implied.

The obvious bodyguard moved slightly then and looked pointedly at his watch. Ivanov acknowledged with a short nod.

“As much as I would prefer to stay and talk I do have business dealings to attend to. Be in touch Mr. James.” Ivanov reached into his pocket and handed over a business card.

James glanced at it. It contained simply a name and an e-mail address. “I will. If not, I’m sure you’ll be able to find me.”

“Until we speak again Mr. James,” Ivanov inclined his head then turned and sauntered off toward the exit.

Bond waited until the bodyguards had cleared the room then left himself and took a somewhat circuitous path back to his hotel room to see what headquarters had come up with.


	16. Into the Fire

If there had been one good thing that came out of the disaster that was now officially denoted as Skyfall it was the permanent move of Q-branch into the tunnels. Yes it was a bit harder to secure completely but the tradeoff in space and relative comfort was very much worth it. This didn’t even touch the fact that if an experiment went awry the labs were deep enough that the worst that would happen would be a sudden influx of water from the Thames. What it meant for Q on this particular day was that he’d managed to get several hours of uninterrupted sleep in his office before the garbage really started to hit the fan.

Q had decided that a nap was in order despite the fact that it was technically morning in London. One didn’t survive in Q-branch very long if you didn’t develop the habit of sleeping whenever things calmed down in the midst of an operation. Since he’d spent the night before locked in his lab in wolf form testing his latest prototype for communicating while he was furry then forcing the shift back early to be available for Toby’s attempt to contact 003, Q was not feeling terribly secure in his human skin. While changing was inadvisable at present he could sleep and hopefully that would help the itchy restless feeling to abate.

“Boss?” George’s voice cut through his sleep. “Things are heating up. 007 is in active operations mode.”

Q opened his eyes, “Time?” he croaked as he sat up.

“11:00 GMT,” George responded as he handed him a cup of freshly made Earl Grey.

16:00 then PKT in Islamabad, Q thought. From George’s method of waking him and the tea Q could deduce that he had a few minutes before he needed to be at full capacity. He took a sip of the tea. “Sit Rep?”

“007 got a shot at the Lion in the marketplace as he was doing recon. He took it.”

Q had to think for a moment, oh yes they’d switched over to animals as code names for persons of interest last week. It was a heck of a lot easier than what the Americans had done in Iraq: playing cards, really? The Lion was one Christian Techaco affiliated with several rebel groups in the Congo. He was on the terminate list due to the kidnapping and torture/murder of a British diplomat some 5 years ago. Q came completely awake at that. If 007 had shot the man in a crowded marketplace he needed to get moving.

His face must have given away his alarm because George quickly added “He got him in the kidney with that ultra-thin titanium shiv we developed. Bond thinks he’ll bleed out internally in several hours unless his guards are alert. Even if the bodyguards are medically trained he’ll end up in hospital and we’ll be able to get to him there.”

Q relaxed a bit then levered himself to his feet stretching. “Ok. What else is on?”

“Nothing. No contact from 368 or 003. 004 is in transit home.”

Q grunted an acknowledgement from around his tea. Another sip or two and he’d feel almost human again. He started moving. George, wisely vacated the doorway.

Q walked into the operations room several minutes later a new cup of tea in hand. There was a map of Islamabad on the large screen with Bond’s tracker blinking green. He seemed to be stationary in a market. The coms were registering ambient noise that was consistent with the location. No camera feeds were currently up but Max appeared to be actively looking for some without much success.

“Well?” Bond was addressing someone.

“Got it.” The voice sounded young.

“Good.” There was a rustling sound, “Nice doing business with you Samuel.”

“Sure thing,” replied the young voice “You need anything else you find me.”

“Will do,” replied Bond.

The dot on the map started moving. It was several minutes before Bond spoke directly. “I have my way in. Time to go hunting Fennec.”

“Good luck 007,” R replied. “Just call if you need anything.”

The dot started heading in the direction of the hotel where they had determined that Mosa Haria, currently designated Fennec, was staying. Q donned a headset, linked himself into the system and pulled up the hotel feeds on his workstation. Max had the feeds from lobby and lift cameras. Q quickly added the perimeter security cameras and the rest of the public area surveillance system. He was just finishing when Bond walked into the lobby as if he owned it.

Q never really got tired of watching Bond work. He had a flair and style all his own. Smooth and debonair; at home in any circumstance he found himself be it a bedroom, a boardroom or simply strolling into a hotel as if he belonged with the full intent of killing a man. Q watched as Bond waived a hotel key card as he passed the security guard posted at the entrance to the lifts. Once in the lift he used a Q-branch electronic lock overrides to get to the executive floor where his quarry currently resided.

The executive floor did not have a camera in the lift lobby or the hall so Q lost visual once the lift doors closed. He had to rely on the minute sounds Bond made while moving and his breathing patterns to determine what was happening and anticipate when and if he would be needed. There was a faint hum followed by a click and a deep breath. Bond was using the electronic override on the suite door. A heartbeat later he was through the door but surprisingly there was no commotion; no cries of surprise, no sounds of a fight, no silenced weapons fire.

Bond hummed a questioning sound under his breath then a moment later said “Fennec’s down with most of his entourage.”

Q started scanning all the other camera feeds. He had a bad feeling about this.

“Looks like someone wanted to blame the Chechen’s” Bond commented conversationally. “They left evidence pointing in that direction but the killings are not at all their style. This too artfully staged almost Asian in tone. Chinese perhaps?”

Q spotted what he’d been looking for, “You’ve got Pakistani army setting a loose perimeter around the hotel 007 and there’s a pair of what looks like intelligence agents at the front desk.”

Q was typing furiously in an attempt to corrupt the key card the intelligence agents were obtaining from the front desk clerk. Too late. Damn the hotel servers were slow. You’d think an international chain would invest in technology that was a bit more up to date. Things just kept getting better and better, Q thought as he investigated more of the hotel’s infrastructure. The lifts were a stand-alone system, not connected to anything but themselves. The only way he could influence them was to disrupt power to the entire block.

“Well I guess it’s time to vacate the premises then.” Bond paused then added, “Sorry Q, I’m going to leave your nice shiv here. With any luck the Pakistani’s will blame the Lion’s injury or death on the Fennec and his crew.”

“The agents are in the lift.”

Q heard a door close, Bond’s footsteps as he walked down the corridor followed by the familiar hum click combination. Bond was entering another room on the executive floor. There was a sharp inhale.

“Oh,” said Bond “I must apologize; the front desk has clearly made a mistake.”

Uh oh. The room was clearly occupied. Q also knew by the tone that the occupant was probably good-looking and odds were, female. Sure enough a moment later an indistinct female voice replied to Bond’s comment.

“I don’t wish to interrupt; you clearly seem to be waiting for someone.”

Something indistinct followed by “but I seem to have been stood up. Would you like some champagne?”

“So what are you celebrating?”

“The fact that today the gods seem to be rewarding me with handsome men.” The female voice spoke English with a faint Indian accent.

Bond gave a low chuckle at that and there was a distinct click as he disengaged his coms.  
“Bloody hell Bond,” Q swore despite the fact that the offending party couldn’t hear him. “You could have just left it on and set it down or something. It’s not like we’ve not heard it all before!”

Most of the people in the operations made sympathetic noises at Q’s outburst. All of them had been cut off by an agent at one point or another. Of course, only the 00’s tended to do it so brazenly and the worst offender of the bunch by far was 007.

Max, on the other hand, was still busy typing. Q noticed that he’d passed the visual feeds of the lobby and the lifts over to R and appeared to be attempting to find and listen to a radio frequency via the Embassy listening post.

Good idea, Q thought. Pakistani army would be using radio to communicate, but what about the intelligence forces? They would most likely be using mobiles especially in the city. Q hesitated for a moment then started in on the local cellular network.

“Anyone fluent in Urdu?” Max asked the room at large. “They are talking awfully fast and I’m only catching a word or two. It’s something about detaining someone and searching for something near as I can tell.”

“Caroline up in intentions does and she’s still in the building,” R said a few seconds later. “Shoot the feed to her and get her to translate.”

“Roger.”

Meanwhile Q had managed to get into the cellular network and had tapped into a call from the intelligence agents in the field back to their headquarters. He was in luck, they were speaking English.

“…five dead throats slit with a Russian skinning knife. Haria is one of them. We haven’t found the rifle but we are just starting to search. Oh and there’s a strange piece of metal on the desk. It looks sharp.”

“Finish the search and see if the killer is hiding in the building. I’ll send a clean-up crew.” It was clear from the tone that the offsite supervisor thought the assassin was long gone.

“If we don’t find the rifle then he’s not our man. Shouldn’t the police take it over in that case?”

“No, he’s persona-non-grata but he has connections. Much better for us if he just disappears.”

“Do we want the killer?”

“If you can find him it would give us some cover if the connections get restless. I’ll run the known foreign operatives and see if there’s a likely suspect. If worse comes to worse we can blame the Sheik on him too.”

“May not have to, we’ve found a rifle with a high end scope.”

“Good. That will give the command something to work with. I’ll have the clean-up crew process it as a crime scene just in case. You have about half an hour before they arrive.”

“Understood.” The connection terminated.

Now wasn’t that interesting. Q was thinking fast; piecing together a whole set of disparate pieces of information. Pakistani Intelligence thought that Fennec had allegedly killed some Sheik and then been offed himself by the Russians or a Russian based group. The Fennec and the Lion both belonged to groups that would dearly love to get their hands on the whatever-it-was being offered for sale by 003’s employer’s boss who they’d yet to discover a name for. Q would bet that the Sheik was also a potential buyer.

“Get me intel on the death of a Sheik somewhere in the area within the last 3 days,” Q ordered his minions.

Rachael’s presence in Islamabad was one link between the arms dealers and the Crimson Lotus smuggling operation in Mumbai. It made sense. You needed some way to move the merchandise. Another potential link could be the name Magnus that Bond had found in Romania. Initial analysis of the hard disk had turned up the name several times but not enough information to determine just exactly how high up on the food chain he was. For all they knew he could be a member of their unknown mastermind’s inner circle. That would tie in the jewel thefts in London that Holmes and Watson were investigating for the Yard. Q made a mental note to alert the analysts to that potential connection.

“Sir,” R’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Caroline says that the orders were to detain and question anyone acting suspiciously who exits the building. They are searching for a sniper rifle. She also wants to know if you want her to come down so you can have real time translation.”

“Yes, Good idea. I’ll square it with her superiors. Does she know she’ll potentially be in for a long day?”

“I’ll make sure she does,” R responded as she picked up the phone.

Q meanwhile sent a quick e-mail to the head of intentions regarding the requisition of certain personnel and offering some upgraded computer equipment as a bribe for her cooperation. The approval landed in his in box at about the same time Caroline walked in the branch door.

George in the meantime had managed to pull some local news about the assassination of Sheik Achmed Alzarani. Only a few were in English but he’d run most of the rest through translation software. Q shuttled the ones in Urdu off to the workstation that R was currently assigning to Caroline for a better translation and some analysis then settled down to skim the material. The Sheik had been killed by a sniper 2100 yesterday local time as he exited the compound where he’d been staying. From the initial information Q determined that the Sheik was from the tribal areas and allegedly had close ties to the Afghani Taliban. It was looking more and more likely that the Sheik had been a potential buyer.

“368 just switched on.” Max noted to the room in general.

Q signaled him to route the feed to the speakers. A phone ringing followed by “Islamabad Marriot, how may I direct your call?”

“Room 5547 please,” Toby’s voice was clear.

Q was happy that he’d tied the coms to the agent’s cell phones for this mission. Mobiles were ubiquitous and unquestioned worldwide now. The agents could talk on the phone and no one would think twice. It was also easier to piggyback on a cellular signal than to rely on either satellite uplink or to hijack some other feed especially in a country like Pakistan where technology could range from state of the art to the Stone Age in the same block. The operator placed the call

“Yes?” a slightly husky female voice answered on the third ring.

_Uh Oh_. Q recognized the voice. _What were the odds?_ His brain went into overdrive for a moment calculating before he stopped. It was 007. _Odds were irrelevant_.

“Rachael?” Toby sounded deferential. “Sorry to bother you but I’ve been sent to escort you to the rendezvous point but we have a problem.”

“Hmmm?” There was an indistinct noise followed by an amused “Stop it!” directed away from the phone.

“It looks like there’s some sort of police or military action going on in the hotel.”

“Oh bother,” the female voice, Rachel, replied. “Give me half an hour.” She made a pleased noise, “No, make that 45 minutes. I’ll meet you in the lobby. I’ll be in a dark blue burka.”

“Yes Mam!” Toby replied and rung off.

The next 35 minutes were spent in a frenzy of preparation. Q hacked an American satellite that happened to be in the proper position. That way he’d be able to override its programing and controls instantly if he needed to have eyes. Max and Caroline continued to work on the Sheik’s background while R kept track of Toby. Toby, on his part, seemed to be employing a communication method most often used by the 00’s. He wasn’t talking directly to Q-Branch but sprinkling information about where he was and what he was doing into his interactions with others. 004 was a master at that sort of thing. He must have picked it up from her.

Exactly 40 minutes later Q looked up at the camera feeds in the Hotel lobby and watched as Toby entered. It was only a minute or two later on that the camera in the lift registered a woman in a Burka entering from the fifth floor.

“Divya,” Toby called to her as she exited the lift in the lobby. “You must hurry your brother is waiting.” It was clearly meant to assuage any suspicions of the agents in the lobby.

Toby escorted her out the front doors. They were quiet for a bit until they had cleared the immediate area.

“I thought everything was set for tomorrow night?”

“I don’t know Rachael,” Toby replied. “I just do what I’m told. Someone died and someone else was injured then the schedule changed. They were scrambling to arrange transportation when I left.”

“Lovely. Are you coming too?”

“No clue. Low man on the totem pole here. I only get direct orders and I only know what I can figure out for myself.”

“I’ll have to see about changing that. I know you were indispensable to Mistress Cynthia and I think you might work out just fine for me if you are interested.”

“Really?” Toby managed to sound young, eager and enamored all at once.

“Yes really.” There was a scuffle then a muttered curse followed by “When can I get out of this damn Burka? I keep tripping on it.”

“When we get to the rendezvous point. You’d only attract attention ditching it now,” Toby replied.

There was quiet for a bit then Toby said, “Ah here’s our ride.”

It was just at that moment Bond called in. Q suddenly found himself very busy orchestrating the tracking of Toby’s cell phone while simultaneously attempting to get 007 out of the hotel unnoticed and unmolested by the locals. The latter ended up involving a bit of phone freaking the hotel’s communication systems, a fire extinguisher and a plate of pasta primavera. Of course one of the minions immediately dubbed the sequence of events _The Bond Noodle Incident_. After a quick explanation and a variety of threats from 007 it was agreed all around that it would not go into the official report and would never be mentioned again.

Unfortunately avoiding the Pakistanis put Bond over an hour behind the arms dealers. Rachael, true to her word, had decreed that Toby was indispensable to her and thus insured he was included in the traveling party. Toby had ostensibly _turned off_ his mobile but had set it in stealth mode such that it was still covertly broadcasting a position signal. Q figured that Toby was saving battery power and would only switch on if the conversation got interesting. It was clear that 386 was wasted where he was. In Q’s opinion based solely on his performance so far Toby was most definitely 00 material.

Bond had procured a motorcycle by the simple expedient of using the street contact he’d made earlier, Samuel, and paying him handsomely. Speaking of underutilized potential, Q thought to himself. Apparently Bond’s opinion was similar because he gave Samuel his Richard Sterling alias and told him to get in touch with one of the agents who served as a gate guard for the British Embassy. Q immediately sent a coded E-mail to alert the man that he’d just acquired a dog’s body and potential local informant.

Now all that remained was to determine where the hell the arms deal was going to take place. The tracker had been heading south from Islamabad toward Lahore but had, about an hour and a half in, turned off heading a bit west. Bond was making up time but he was still 40 minutes or so behind the main convoy and as the traffic became less and he got closer he’d need to slow up to ensure he was not spotted. Another half hour and judicious use of the satellite later Q suspected that the arms dealers were heading for the area around the Kehewra Salt Mines. It was only 20 minutes later that his suspicions were confirmed when Toby’s signal stopped at a small complex on the outskirts of the mining district.

Toby’s signal abruptly went live audio. “We are going underground?” He hissed.

“Shhh,” Rachael’s voice answered, “Are you claustrophobic?”

“Not really, I just don’t like the look of that old equipment.”

“I’ve been here before.” she reassured him. “It’s really quite modern once you get inside.”

“I’d hope so. That set of conveyors over by the bucket lift look about ready to fall apart.”

“Just a façade darling, just a façade.”

“Come on you two, keep up. We don’t need to be out in the open too long.” 003’s voice was stern. He was playing his security role to the hilt.

“Ok, Ok keep your shirt on!” Rachael replied teasingly then spoke to Toby. “I’ll most likely need to leave you at some point. When I do stay put and wait. I’ll collect you afterward and get our arrangement finalized.”

“Yesum.” Toby replied as his signal started to fade out as they headed underground.

Toby had given Q enough information however for Q to locate the mine entrance and allow him to get a good satellite view of the complex and the surrounding vicinity. It didn’t look good. Bond was going to have to ditch the motorcycle at least a mile or more out to avoid observation. Q located a topographical map and between it, the current satellite feed and Google Earth determined the best approach would be from a side road due north of the mine. He directed Bond there.

“Nice sunset,” Bond remarked over the coms as he hid the motorcycle. Bond’s mobile signal was via satellite at the moment so there was a bit of static.

“I’ve spotted a couple guard posts with snipers in the complex 007,” Q replied then added, “and there is a convoy that may be the buyer on the main road about thirty minutes out. You don’t have a lot of time.”

“Are there patrols around the complex?”

“With 003 running security I’d suspect so. I don’t see anything right now but there’s a road that roughly circles the complex.”

“Two man team in a Jeep then.” Bond mused half to himself then snorted. “I’m going off grid for a bit. I don’t want to be picked up if they have anything sophisticated.”

“Roger 007, good luck.”

Q had a sneaking suspicion what Bond was going to do. He’d shift, work his way into the complex, take out a guard and swipe his clothes and infiltrate that way. It would take him several minutes to shift then 5 to 10 minutes to cover the distance and move into position. Q settled down to watch the satellite feed for the inevitable chaos that would ensue.


	17. Questions and Answers

Climbing the 17 steps to 221B that evening felt like assaulting Everest without the exhilaration of actually reaching the summit. A shift at the A&E which had lapsed into hours of overtime followed by what John mentally referred to as _furry medicine_ had left him absolutely knackered. He paused on the landing when he heard Sherlock’s baritone. He listened momentarily and realized from the tone that Sherlock was giving instructions, presumably to one of his informants. John shuffled a bit then intentionally stepped on the squeaky board on the landing to give notice of his coming just in case the informant wanted to escape out the window and down the fire escape rather than meeting him. Some of Sherlock’s network were seriously _off the grid_ and really didn’t like anyone knowing about their association with the detective. He needn’t have bothered. Billy Wiggins and Sherlock were standing in the sitting room when he entered and hung his coat on the peg. It was clear that they were just finishing up.

“Remember,” Sherlock was saying “He may not be our man but if he isn’t he knows who is. Make sure they keep a good eye on his associates with as well as tracking him. Sooner or later he’ll lead us to that lab.”

“Will do,” Wiggins said. He glanced at Watson then. “Hiya Doc,” he nodded in greeting then “Begging your pardon but you look all in.”

“Ta for that William,” John responded using Wiggins hated full name. “It’s just been a very long day.” John flopped down in his chair.

“OK Doc,” Billy was shrugging himself into his coat. “But how are you going to keep up with his nibs here if you run yourself into the ground? You know he doesn’t have an ounce of self-preservation without you around!” With that parting comment Billy took off clattering down the stairs and out the front door.

Sherlock stared after him. John noticed a strange look flitted across his flat mate’s face before it was suppressed. Sherlock turned then and looked John up and down obviously deducing what he had been up to. Strangely he didn’t say anything but merely turned and walked toward the Kitchen.

John sighed. Every time he thought he had a handle on Sherlockian behavior his mad flat mate would do something anomalous. If he didn’t know better he’d suspect that Sherlock was doing it intentionally just to confuse him. No, more likely it was an experiment of some sort. He was probably writing a paper; something on the order of _The Reactions of John Watson in his Native Environment to Specialized Stimuli_. Whatever it was John would find out eventually. Sherlock never could keep his scientific findings to himself. In the meantime he decided that he would just sit in his chair for a bit before attempting the stairs to his room and his bed.

********

John woke up feeling comfortable and refreshed. He stretched before opening his eyes and realized that the sheets felt different. They were softer and smoother than normal. He was thankful that Ms. Hudson had apparently laundered his sheets and idly wondered what she was using for fabric softener. He took a deep sniff and realized that the sheets didn’t smell of fabric softener, they smelled like Sherlock. His eyes popped open. He wasn’t in his room at all. He was in Sherlock’s room; in Sherlock’s bed; wearing nothing but his pants. To make matters worse he knew exactly which pants he had put on yesterday morning. It was a red silky pair that Harry had given him as a gag gift one Christmas. He’d grabbed them in desperation yesterday when he determined that he desperately needed to do laundry. Panicking slightly John looked around. His clothes and shoes were nowhere in sight but over the back of a strategically placed chair was a pair of his sweats, a t-shirt and an unfamiliar pair of cotton pants in dark blue.

John closed his eyes then opened them again. Nope, same view. He wasn’t dreaming then. He really was in Sherlock’s room. His flat mate had clearly managed to get him out of his chair, divested him of his clothes and put him to bed last night all without his conscious assistance. Which, when he thought about it, was most likely why he was in Sherlock’s room; somnambulism and stairs usually didn’t mix too well. He must have been worse off than he’d thought. Well, there was nothing for it but to get up and face whatever comments Sherlock would make about his passing out last night.

Half an hour later showered, shaved and attired in the clothes provided John felt somewhat ready to go in search of tea and face his flat mate. He found Sherlock laid out on the sofa in his _thinking pose_. John took a close look. He didn’t appear to be asleep, just thinking judging from the occasional twitch of an eyebrow and purse of his lips. He’d probably been there most of the night. With another glance at Sherlock John moved to the Kitchen. Tea and toast was the first order of business.

John made enough for both of them. Despite the case he’d been much more successful in getting Sherlock to eat lately. Juggling a plate full of toast with honey for Sherlock and jam for himself and two full tea mugs John didn’t notice Sherlock had sat up until after he’d deposited his load on the coffee table. Sherlock grabbed his mug of tea with one hand and surprisingly one of the pieces of toast with the other. John sat in his chair and they proceeded to consume breakfast in a companionable silence.

Once the last bit of toast was gone Sherlock cocked his head and asked, “So what happened that Mr. McKellan needed your assistance last night?”

“You spotted hair I take it.”

“And the hole in your jumper that looked like something had bit down on it as well as the blood on your shoes. You change out of scrubs and shower before coming home from your A&E shifts so you were called as you were on the way home and then spent several hours dealing with the emergency.”

John smiled, “It wasn’t quite that bad. We had a set of multi-car accident patients come in at the end of shift. Most were moderately injured but there were four critical. I stayed on until they were stabilized and the administration could scramble a few extra doctors and support staff to deal with the walking wounded.”

“So you were called somewhere between hospital and the tube stop then.”

“Yes.” John intentionally kept his answer to one syllable. He needed to see if Sherlock had really processed his warnings about werewolves and secrecy.

Sherlock looked slightly puzzled for a moment. “Can you,” he started then his brow cleared and he suddenly changed tactics “Do you have permission to tell me what happened?”

John smiled again. “Yes, in fact, I do. Shaun said he might as well given the fact that you’d probably deduce it all anyway from the way I run my hands through my hair or something.”

“Mr. McKellan is clearly a perspicacious individual.”

“You don’t stay alpha of a major pack without a hefty dose of brains to go with the brawn,” John agreed.

“So what happened?”

“Shaun had two wolves injured. The younger one, one of their best trackers, had a couple of broken ribs. They had pulled one of them out of his lung but there were at least 4 more broken. Shifting with certain ribs broken runs a real danger of collapsing the entire chest cavity in on itself. If that happens well, things get really messy really fast. Shaun held him in human form until I could get there to oversee. His second, David, had managed to get shot with silver buckshot. I ended up digging that out of him while he gave his report.”

“Someone ambushed the younger wolf.” Sherlock didn’t phrase it as a question.

“Near as David could tell, yes. They were down in that light industrial area near where you almost were tossed into the river. They were attempting to track some non-native wolf scents. A couple of the pack had run across the scents less than a week ago. They couldn’t tell if it was just someone passing through or whether someone had moved into town and hadn’t contacted them. David and his pack mate were checking it out.”

“Given the injuries I would suspect the latter.”

“So does Shaun. Unfortunately we won’t know what the younger wolf found. He was unconscious when I got there and he’s going to be stuck on four feet until those ribs heal a bit.”

Sherlock didn’t comment so John continued, “David was a few blocks over when he heard the commotion. By the time he got on site there was nothing but the scent of three strange wolves. Then he was hit. What was really strange was that there was no sound of a shot. He said suddenly he felt like he was being stabbed with a whole set of silver spikes. The pain stunned him for a moment and when he got it back together he grabbed the younger wolf and ran like hell.”

Sherlock by this point had reverted to his _thinking pose_ while sitting. John only hoped that he wouldn’t pull the falling asleep number this time. After a minute or two Sherlock asked, “Do you know exactly where the attack occurred?”

John got up and rummaged about for one of the greater London area maps that they had scattered about the place. While Sherlock never needed a map to get about in London, he had the whole thing stored in his mind palace; they occasionally posted one on the wall as part of Sherlock’s visualization process. Map located, John spread it out on the coffee table and located the area where the wolves had been attacked. He marked it with a pen. It was less than four blocks from where he and that strange wolf, Q, had rescued Sherlock. He marked that spot too.

“Highlighter.” Sherlock muttered and John handed him the pen which just happened to have an integrated highlighter as its other end. Sherlock proceeded to draw a highlighted line around another area on the map that was a bit removed from the two marks.

“What’s that area?” John asked.

“Claimed territory of the dealer who got the modified drugs first. He had them a good 24 hours before anyone else in the city.”

“Doesn’t look like the strange wolves are providing protection for him then. Otherwise the pack wouldn’t have been searching in this area,” John circled an area on the map with his finger that included the marks but did not overlap the highlighted section.

“Protection? Werewolves provide protection details?” Sherlock asked. “I thought you said their concerns were normally pack first?”

“Some packs actually use a security firm as their primary business. However those that do if they work out of their own area they’d check in with the local alpha before taking the job. Since Shaun doesn’t know I doubt it’s anything like that. That leaves the independents. Some wolves don’t do well in a pack structure so they get the official designation of _lone wolf_. If they are going to be in an area for longer than a week or so they are supposed to get in touch with the local alpha. It’s one part protocol and one part protection. If they don’t check in the local alpha could assume it’s a take-over attempt and put out a kill-on-sight order or locate the offender and force a dominance fight. In either situation if some of the pack sides with the interloper things get really bloody and often someone ends up dead.”

“Lone wolves work as body guards or security consultants,” Sherlock said abstractedly.

It didn’t appear to John that he was asking a question. It was more integrating information into his mind palace.

“Yes, among other things,” John answered anyway. “Those that do tend to have a core group of people around them that functions as a surrogate pack. There was a small military contracting firm based out of the U.S. Pacific Northwest that allegedly had a lone wolf in its ranks. They tended to work above board but there are rumors of others who are simply for hire.”

“Mercenaries.”

“Yep.”

“And you happen to know about all this because you were told.” Sherlock was looking at him intently now. “In the past; in Afghanistan.”

John nodded. “One of my patients was going to be shipped home. He was thinking about going lone wolf when he healed. He needed to lay the ground work before he got shipped out if he was going to do it. There was no-one around who had any idea except me so he used me as a sounding board.”

“How does a werewolf get sent home with a medical discharge?” Sherlock was confused.

“They heal fast but they don’t regenerate extremities.”

“Oh.” Sherlock paused for a moment, “David then.”

John had to marvel. Sherlock had only seen the chief bartender at the Wolf’s Head Inn once yet he’d managed to spot the two missing fingers on his right hand as well as determine that he was Shaun’s second and John’s unnamed patient. “Amazing.”

“You know you still say that out loud.”

“And you still don’t mind me doing so.”

Sherlock made a derisive snort then went back to his thinking. A minute or two later he said, “In nature more than two wolves constitutes a pack.”

“Be careful, it doesn’t do to over extrapolate from normal wolf behavior to werewolves,” John cautioned.

“Mr. McKellan is concerned because this might indicate another pack encroaching on his territory.” Sherlock lapsed into silence for another minute then muttered “dominance dynamics.”

“Pardon?”

“Werewolves function best in a dominance hierarchy. How do they cope with taking orders from humans who are weaker?”

“The ones in the military are often lone wolf or considering it. They tend to view the command structure as a surrogate alpha. I don’t know how it would work in the private sector but I suspect that they’d need to be given a fair degree of autonomy for things to work smoothly.”

Sherlock hummed at that then said, “Hire for a specific task and set them loose with a set of basic parameters. Otherwise they’d need to respect the employer somehow to work under direction.”

“I don’t know. You’d need to ask someone. I’d suggest David but it wouldn’t be safe. He’s going to be rather grumpy due to his injuries and the upcoming full moon. The silver poisoning is going to make him take him almost as long as a normal human to heal.”

Sherlock fell silent then. John watched as the detective sat on the sofa fingers pressed together in front of his lips. After a few minutes he started rhythmically pursing his lips against the side of his fingers. This usually indicated that he was sorting through data and making connections then following the line of reasoning until it petered out, required additional information or resulted in a conclusion. John idly wondered if he should write a monograph; _Ticks of Genius – The Thinking Behaviors of Sherlock Holmes_. He certainly had enough observational data to do so.

When it was obvious that Sherlock was going to be at it a while John decided to get up and make another cup of tea. He filled and turned on the kettle then looked at both cups. Should he make a second cup for Sherlock? If the detective was immersed in thought as he’d seemed the odds of him even noticing that there was tea available were slim to none. He set up his cup and left Sherlock’s alone.

Just as the kettle clicked off he was startled by Sherlock’s baritone from the Kitchen doorway, “Yes, please.”

Wordlessly John set about making a second cup. When it was done he turned and handed it to Sherlock.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Since you decided I was thinking too deeply to be bothered with tea.”

“And you’ve been staring at me ever since?”

“Observing.”

“And what have you been observing?”

“How you project an air of complete and utter normality yet you are clearly not.”

It was John’s turn to snort in derision. “So how am I not normal?” he inquired.

“Where shall I start?” Sherlock asked rhetorically. “You are a healer, a solider, a crack shot, trusted enough by werewolves that they let you know the ins and outs of their secret society, on a first name basis with at least the top two members of the London pack, you are sensitive to Fae folk, you are also sensitive to magic, a powerful Fae lord has called you kin and you put up with me on a daily basis!”

“According to most people that last one merely means I’m sectionable not that I’m anything special,” John laughed.

“I’ve told you before, you are not a great intellect but as a conductor of light you are surpassed by no one.”

John was beginning to be a little uncomfortable. Sherlock had heaped more praise on him in the last two minutes than in the last two years combined. He was also staring as if John was the most interesting thing in the entire flat. This, coupled with Sherlock’s abnormal behavior since the drugging incident, raised the level of concern to new heights.

“Are you sure you are all right? Since the bit with the GHB you’ve seemed a bit…uhh…” John trailed off not quite able to describe what exactly was bothering him.

Sherlock waived his hand in a dismissive motion. “Not important. I’ll explain later. Right now what I need to know is how accurate is your assessment of the power of a Fae?”

John felt his eyebrows go up in surprise. How the heck had Sherlock deduced that he could tell how powerful a particular fae was? He didn’t think he’d been that obvious about it.

“Your behavior when faced with our guest of several months ago and with Mycroft’s counterpart,” Sherlock explained.

“Relatively accurate. I can’t tell what they can do or anything but I can tell whether they are major or minor and how much power they can access.”

“Mycroft’s colleague?” Sherlock asked.

“Very powerful. She’s probably one of the Grey Lords.”

“What about our visitor who had an interest in the cup?”

John thought a moment. “Not quite as powerful as Mycroft’s compatriot.”

“The one who wanted to dump me in the river?”

“Mid-level. Physically strong and with some mind control capacity.”

Sherlock looked surprised and slightly upset. “You didn’t tell me it attempted to control you!”

John shrugged, “It didn’t work on me. I’d bet your human attackers were controlled however.”

“Was it strong enough to control a werewolf?”

“No. Physically it thought it could take on Q but I think it was underestimating him badly based on size and looks. I suspect a werewolf would be able to take it down with a bit of a fight.”

Sherlock looked like he’d bit into a lemon. Obviously whatever line of deduction he’d been pursuing had just come to a sudden stop. He set his tea down on the table, turned and stalked into the sitting room. A moment later he was back clearly agitated. He turned again and was gone pacing the length of the flat.

John watched. After two laps of the flat Sherlock spoke, “I’m missing something.” After another two laps, “Nothing fits, I’m missing something!” He paused for a moment and ran his hands through his hair then started pacing at greater speed.

The problem was clear to John. Sherlock was lacking data but Sherlock being Sherlock would not admit that lacking data was a problem. John was well aware that this level frustration in the past would have led to a cocaine binge or more recently an overdose of nicotine. It was up to him to stop it.

Timing his movements he put down his tea and stepped directly into Sherlock’s path on the next circuit. Sherlock, who hadn’t really been paying much attention promptly crashed into him. John had been expecting this and was braced for it, expertly catching Sherlock about the waist and preventing him from falling uncontrolled to the Kitchen floor. Sherlock ended up flat on his back with John kneeling beside him. The look of surprise on his face was priceless and John treasured it. The look that followed was a bit harder to decipher but the movement that accompanied it was not. Slowly Sherlock reached up, ran his hand along the side of John’s face and coming to rest around the nape of his neck. Sherlock’s expression was as open as John had ever seen it, questioning accompanied by a tentative hand flutter that might have been an aborted attempt to tug him closer.

John smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...is this enough to add a Sherlock Holmes/John Watson tag?


	18. Rememberance

Sitting through an official MI6 memorial service was something, in James’ opinion, to be avoided if at all possible. _Ultimate sacrifice, honored service_ , blah, blah, blah; words could not truly express the pain when you knew that a colleague, a member of your pack breathed no more. Grief would come much later after a full measure of recriminations, regret and even revenge if such was warranted. The ache would lessen eventually but not because of any ritual recitation of accomplishments. However here he was standing in the back of the largest conference room listening to M drone on about David Mason’s exemplary service as 003 to Queen and Country and how his demise would leave a hole in their ranks which would never be filled in quite the same way again. 

He glanced down looking at the reason he was subjecting himself to this. Toby Uchaia sat straight in a wheelchair looking pale and shaking slightly. Bond reached over and rested his hand lightly on the young man’s shoulder. To most anyone else it would look as if the 00 was simply giving emotional support to an injured fellow agent but it was much more than just that. No, James was helping his newest wolf keep control in a highly emotional situation. As he listened with half an ear to the proceedings James found himself recalling the events of over a week ago.

Q’s directions had put him in the optimum position to attempt an infiltration of the arms dealer’s compound. Far enough out so the odds of the motorbike being spotted were slim but close enough that he could access the compound in a reasonable amount of time jogging, sooner if he went on four feet. When Q had told him about the convoy on the road he had decided. His gun, earpiece and mobile had been stuffed in a small bag along with a piece of his shirt to keep them from rattling against each other. He had made the shift to wolf form, grabbed the bag and took off even before the pain of the shift had subsided.

He’d made it across the perimeter road unseen but then he’d run into some minor problems. There were areas that smelled like Fae and areas that clearly were booby-trapped against human incursion. He had avoided the first and circumvented the second but it had slowed him down. He made it into the complex only a few minutes before the buyer’s convoy of four vehicles pulled in. The buyers were Asian, some looked to be Uyghur in ethnicity while others looked more Han. James knew that there was no way he could infiltrate by claiming to be with that group.

003 and a couple of guards exited a building that seemed to serve as an office for the complex. They quickly and efficiently searched the buyers. Personal weapons were carefully placed in a large lockbox and the key was given to the leader of the buyer’s group. Apparently there was a check your weapon at the door policy. James figured that there were larger, longer range weapons in the vehicles but the buyers had seemed content to leave them there. Once the preliminaries were complete the group was escorted to what was clearly the entrance to a mine and went inside.

James had decided that he needed a quick above ground recon before venturing into the mine after the group. He reasoned that he’d have a better chance of remaining undiscovered if he gave them time to get deep enough inside and secondarily he wanted to get an idea if there was going to be anyone other than the perimeter guards at his back. It was a relatively small complex containing an office, a loading building, another building that seemed to be living quarters for workers or guards and a bunch of older mining equipment which looked to be operational. He had been debating whether to shift and grab some clothes from the living area or going in four footed when the ground had quaked beneath his feet.

A puff of dust had belched from the mine entrance just as James felt like he’d been kicked in the chest by someone wearing athletic cleats. A moment later the pain had been gone but there was another rumble and a larger cloud of dust emanated from the mine. James had taken off toward the entrance at a run. He ended up having to scramble under some mining equipment to avoid a small knot of men staggering out of the tunnel. They were babbling in a mix of languages with given the ethnicities involved was understandable. It was such a mish-mash that James could only catch a word or two in any one language but those words were enough. Traitor, secret police, raid, bomb, cave-in, and dead made a grim although incomplete tale.

The knot of men quickly organized themselves into two groups. One was the Chinese contingent who jumped into their cars and sped off. The remainder appeared to be mercenary types mixed with locals. They took a bit longer to liberate a couple of vehicles and supplies and then they too were gone.

Once the way was clear James investigated the mine. For the first hundred feet or so it appeared to be just a standard salt mine until he arrived at the first branching tunnel. One direction seemed to be mine while the other opened into a set of finished rooms. He had investigated the finished rooms first. It started with a common area flanked by offices, a small room that seemed to be an infirmary, and a set of what seemed to be guest rooms. The whole thing was lit, wired for electricity but there didn’t appear to be any computers or communications equipment. All in all it was a cozy little lair perfect for an arms smuggling operation. James quickly determined that the area was empty and headed off down the other branch tunnel.

It didn’t take him very long to find the cave-in and something else he didn’t expect. Toby was lying half crushed by some debris. He had his mobile in hand and was attempting to whisper something into it.

“London, attack, water” he had said before lapsing into unconsciousness.

James realized that the mobile’s case was cracked. There was no knowing if it was still functioning and whether it had managed to record anything. It was clear that Toby had vital intelligence. It was also clear that in his condition he would not survive long enough to tell James what he knew. There was one thing within James’ power. One chance, a long shot at best, but James had taken it.

He snapped back to the present. The service was winding down and a good thing too. Toby was looking a little grey. James didn’t know whether it was what he’d had to do to kick start the accelerated healing or something else but Toby’s change had been anomalous all the way round. James had managed to get enough of the virus into the young man by way of carefully placed bites and a jury-rigged blood transfusion. Even then the healing had barely kept ahead of the effects of Toby’s wounds. The fever and delirium that often went with a lycanthropy infection had hit the young man hard. Uncharacteristically it had lasted off and on for most of the week. It was almost as if Toby’s immune system was still attempting to fight the change long after it should have given up. The net result was that Toby remained irritable, weak and easily fatigued. Dr. Neilson was stumped and she’d asked her colleagues, both wolf and non-wolf, for any ideas and suggestions they might have on the situation. The few answers she’d received so far were not at all helpful.

Finally, the droning stopped and people started to file out of the room. James let them go, not wanting to subject Toby to a crowd in the hallway. As the room cleared Moneypenny came and stood near them providing additional insulation from their departing coworkers. It didn’t take long before they were the only ones left in the room.

Moneypenny turned and looked at James and Toby. “Are you coming?” she asked James.

“Pardon?”

“Q-branch,” she replied. “They’ve got a set up more comfortable than that wheelchair,” she addressed Toby, “if you want to join in.”

“Join in what?” James was confused.

Moneypenny looked at him then apparently realized something. “Oh, you don’t know. It’s something Q-branch does when we lose a 00. It’s been a long standing internal tradition but since Q acquired the department he’s included the surviving 00’s and management in the festivities. I was told Toby was invited since he was on the op. You really should come,” she added. “It’s a hell of a lot better than what you just sat through!”

James looked at Toby who shrugged. “As long as I can lie down and no-one gets insulted if I pass out then I’m game.”

“I doubt that will be a problem,” Moneypenny said cryptically.

“Fine by me,” James acquiesced and started pushing Toby in the direction of Q-branch.

By the time they arrived the Q-branch bullpen had been rearranged. The lighting was subdued. All the projects had been put away out of sight and there were a few tables that had been set up as a small bar in one corner. Some of the monitors were on with a person manning them but the rest of the area was filled with the self-dubbed minions. It looked like most of them were present, even the ones who were technically off duty. One thing was unchanged however, Q’s workstation. Q was standing at it where he could look out over his domain but he wasn’t doing so at the moment. His head was bowed and he appeared to be concentrating on something on one of his multiple monitors.

R spotted them as they entered and waived them over. There was a zero-gravity style chair clearly reserved for Toby as well as another one of the reinforced variety for Bond if he wanted it.

Once she saw them to R’s capable hands Moneypenny asked, “What’s your poison gentlemen?”

“Scotch, if it’s decent otherwise Vodka” said James.

“Sake?” Toby asked hopefully.

“I think we can accommodate both of you,” R smiled as Moneypenny took herself to procure the requested libations.

James looked around the room. He was a bit surprised. Every 00 that was in country was here. 004 was sitting cross legged on a desk looking like a slender gender swapped Buddha. 001 and 002 were having a conversation by the bar. Tanner was perched on R’s desk, drink in hand, next to 005. Even M was here, leaning casually on one of the walls. Everyone, even the techs who were manning the few active consoles had something to drink, alcoholic or otherwise.

Moneypenny arrived back with their glasses just as Q looked up and asked “Are we all here?”

R responded “All minions present or accounted for oh fearless leader!”

Q looked around as one of the minions on a console piped up, “I have 006 and 009 on coms, 008 is dark for the next 24 so he won’t be joining us barring an emergency.”

“Put them on the main feed then,” Q ordered then asked “Can you hear me 006 and 009?”

A “Da” and “Yes” came out of two different speakers simultaneously.

“Good,” Q continued “Let’s lock it down.”

Various minions moved to terminals and activated them. Shortly James could hear the clunks and other noises that indicated Q-branch was now isolated from the outside world. Secure protocol with the exception of the links to 006 and 009.

R confirmed what James’ senses had told him, “We’re secure sir.”

Q looked around the room again then raised a glass full of clear liquid and said “Mason.”

“Mason” everyone in the room and the two speakers echoed then everyone drank.

The scotch was indeed good.

“So, who wants to start?” Q asked after a short pause.

The next hour and a half was quite enlightening. It seemed most people in the room had something to say about the former 003. James recognized some things while others were a complete surprise. He’d known about the signature _slam them up against the wall_ move having experienced it in training. He’d also known about the extensive knowledge of botany. The love of poetry and talent for garden design was a surprise though. The stories ranged from the mundane to the classified; funny to serious; poignant to objective.

Through it all Q stood at this workstation, hands on a keyboard and did not speak. He paid attention to everyone only occasionally looking away to type on his computer. Finally he took his hands off the keyboard and said “Enough”

The room fell into an attitude of expectant waiting. A variety of folks went and topped off their drinks. Very few people spoke and when they did it was in hushed tones, almost whispers.

Moneypenny wandered over and handed him another scotch that she had fetched unasked. Toby was still nursing his first Sake even though James knew that his werewolf metabolism could burn off four times the alcohol in less than half the time they’d spent in Q-branch.

Q cleared his throat and the room went silent. He took a deep breath, opened his mouth and began to sing. His voice was a clear tenor and it took James a bit to recognize that he was singing in Welsh. Q appeared to be channeling his namesake, the bard Taliesin.

Once he got over his surprise James glanced around and realized that there were scrolling words on the active monitors. It was the translation of what Q was singing. A quick read of the lyrics revealed what was going on. Q was working his way in poetic form through the names of all the 00’s who had died in service since the founding of MI6. Each name had several lines and James was willing to bet that there was a longer poem that went with each and every name.

He closed his eyes and let Q’s voice waft over him. The words were somehow comforting even though James didn’t speak the language. The longer he listened the more he felt that there was some undercurrent to this whole ceremony. Gradually it dawned on him what was going on. Q was somehow influencing emotion with his voice. No he was influencing the mood not just with his voice but with something else too. He was taking all the feelings in the room; the pain and loss, the anger and guilt, the pride and patriotism, and molding them. He was transmuting them into something else; something that would motivate and rededicate all present to their common purpose.

James couldn’t tell if Q was even conscious of what he was doing. The closest thing that James had ever seen to this was one time on an op. A politician who had been part Fae had been whipping up a crowd into a nationalistic frenzy. The politician had, of course, known exactly what he was doing. James had ended up taking him out with a sniper rifle. But this was different. Whatever Q was doing it didn’t smell or feel like a Fae spell. No it had a flavor of what Shaun liked to call _pack magic_.

A familiar name jolted James out of his contemplation. Olivia Mansfield, he’d forgotten she’d been a 00 in her day. He barely had the time to register that fact when Q was now singing of David Mason. A couplet to start and then song changed. It shifted to a different meter than what had gone before. James took a peek at the translation on the monitor and recognized a bit of one of the stories that had been told earlier. Q had apparently composed this on the fly while people were sharing their recollections. A few minutes later Q shifted back into the original form. James recognized the cadence and some of the words as the same that Q had sung when he first started. The translation read:

_Agents were sent, from London they went forth._  
_Duty was their drink and it proved to be their poison._  
_They cut through those that would do great harm,_  
_But after a joyful cry, only silence ensued._  
_Bloody sacrifices on freedom’s alter,_  
_Our penance, to remember their names forever._

There was silence in the room. Q was braced casually against his desk; hands wide with his head bowed. After a moment he raised his head and looked around. It wasn’t obvious to the others in the room but James could tell Q was extremely tired. It was frustrating that he couldn’t do anything about that right now but James planned to rectify that shortly.

The silence held for a minute more then R piped up, “We need a final toast to close this out.”

James looked around the room. He expected M or Tanner as the highest ranking members present to say something. That didn’t happen. There was movement as one of the minions hopped up on a desk in a smooth move that spoke of either dance or martial arts training. A compatriot handed her a tumbler of something clear that had wispy tendrils of what looked like steam rising out of the glass. He recognized her as the one with the zombie jellyfish theory.

She raised her glass waiting until most everyone else had done the same then started,

“Raise your cups to comrades gone, to friends and heroes past.  
With heavy hearts and solemn vows, their memory will ever last.  
But now we will no longer morn our battle-brothers lost.  
Let’s raise our cups and drink this mead till the gates of hell we cross!”

To shouts of agreement, everyone drank. It definitely wasn’t the type of toast James had expected. In fact it expressed a very 00esq attitude toward the job and the sacrifices entailed in doing it. Judging from the reaction it was a sentiment that everyone in the room seemed to share.

When the resulting hubbub died down a bit Q said, “Let’s rejoin the world.”

As the minions scrambled to unlock Q-branch he continued “006, 009 we’ll let you go now. Good luck.”

“Last one back to London buys the drinks,” 006 said invoking a long standing tradition among the 00s. If ever two or more of them were on the same coms at any one time there would be a bet of some sort regarding who would get back first. The stakes varied depending upon the agents involved but a bet always ensued.

“You’re on,” 009 replied then rang off.

“I’ll check in at 21:00,” 006 said and cut his feed.

Q continued, “Ok everyone, there’s still work to do for those of you on shift. The rest of you know when you are on. The car service is available or if you want to stick around the usual places are set up.”

There was a chorus of assents ranging from affirmative noises to “aye, aye sir” and even one “Yes master!” in a bad Eastern European accent.

The branch was clearing quickly. 004 headed toward them, clearly intending to talk to Toby. That should be safe enough, James thought. 004 could take care of herself for the time it would take for him to get back in case Toby lost it. Not that he was expecting Toby to have problems like that but it was better to be prepared for all eventualities.

James sauntered up to Q’s workstation. Q was shutting things down but looked up at his approach. James merely said “Your lab. 10 minutes.”

Q gave him a short nod in acknowledgement and continued what he was doing.

James turned with the intent of collecting Toby just in time to see 004 help him into his wheel chair and give the young man a kiss on the forehead. Toby was blushing furiously. James could smell the attraction. He made a mental note to tell Toby, if he didn’t figure it out for himself, that the interest was very definitely mutual.

“Take care of him James,” was her parting remark punctuated with a look that said he’d be hearing from her if he didn’t.

“I will,” he said smiling a predator’s grin making it sound like a vow.

004 smiled a similar smile and went on her way.

“One more stop and then you can rest,” James said to Toby as he pushed the wheelchair deeper into Q-branch in the direction of Q’s fortified lab.

They had barely made it inside the door when Q came in behind them. “I hope this isn’t going to take too long,” Q said in a tired sounding voice. “I’m knackered.”

“Me too,” chimed in Toby.

James reached around Q to the keypad by the door and punched in the lockdown code before saying anything. Once the various locking sequences had completed James started in.

“Remember the ritual I told you about?” He asked Q.

“The one you didn’t really want to do in case you ended up killed on mission for fear of the backlash?”

“Yes. Unfortunately Toby here changes things.”

“Huh?” Toby made a confused sound.

James looked at him, “I turned you therefore you and I are automatically bound as pack. Q right now is only pack by association. Now that there are three of us we need to be pack otherwise things will start to get complicated.”

“Like they are not already complicated,” Q muttered to himself.

“This should make them less so,” James said as he pulled a knife out of his pocket and nicked a small piece off his thumb. “Trust me this will make some things much easier.” He placed the bloody scrap of flesh at Q’s lips. Q reluctantly swallowed it down.

“From this day forward,” Q shivered at the sound of James’ voice “Mine to me and mine. Pack.”

“Yours to you, mine to me. Pack” Q responded.

A moment later Q’s face took on a look of surprise as the magic swirled through the three of them making them more than they’d been individually. James knew his wolves and could feel Q’s fatigue and Toby’s low grade fever. The reverse would also be true if he allowed it. He also knew that they now could sense each other to some degree. The three of them were now truly Pack.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The concept for Q’s poem is based partially on _Y Gododdin_. If anyone wants to take a shot at translating it into Welsh feel free and don’t worry about a word for word…just keep the concept and make it sound good. The toast is a slightly modified version of the initial lyrics from _The Dread Crew of Oddwood_ by the band of the same name from their album Reign the Helm. It just seemed appropriate. (BTW: You can find the band on you-tube, Facebook, and they even have their own website. Unfortunately not all of their stuff is available on I-tunes. A word to the wise: some of their stuff is explicit, some is gory and some is both…caveat emptor or should it be caveat auditor.)


	19. 1+1=10 (Adding things Up)

Q attempted to hide his annoyance as he looked out over his domain. He’d been frustrated for a good two weeks and today he was having a hard time not taking it out on anyone who came within earshot. He glanced around looking for something to distract himself with but his eyes seemed to stick to the initial source of his ire; the remnants of a mobile phone siting disassembled in a box on the edge of his desk.

Toby’s mobile was a complete and utter disaster. The heavily modified phones and SIM chips were able to sit on a magnet for a week then stand up to a decent EMP without losing any data. The things were so over engineered that being half crushed in a salt mine cave-in should in no way have fried the voice notes that Toby had been making. Unfortunately this was not the case. The only data Q had been able to retrieve, despite his best algorithms, consisted of a few words and phrases. There was not much he could do with _Magnus, Fae, power, London, control, gems,_ and _stolen magic_ when the rest of the recording was a bunch of static.

Toby was no help at all. He couldn’t remember anything after he’d turned the phone on when he’d reached the salt mine compound. Dr. Neilson said it was retrograde amnesia most likely caused by his injuries in the mine collapse. She indicated that there was a chance of spontaneous recovery of the memories but there was no guarantee. Likewise, James had asked Shaun about the potential of the lycanthropy infection interfering with memory. Shaun had heard of cases where the change was traumatic enough that the person blocked not only the memories of the attack but also of events just before and after. Most of the time, Shaun had noted, the memories returned once the person fully integrated the new wolf part of his personality. All of which meant Toby wouldn’t be able to shed any light on the manner until after tonight’s full moon at the earliest.

Q continued to glare at the mobile. He’d been racking his brains for days trying to figure out what exactly would have caused the phone’s protections to fail. He’d ruled out most everything else which left, as his middle brother was won’t to say, something that however improbable might just be the correct answer; Magic. Q knew from anecdotal reports from the hacking communities that certain powerful Fae could disrupt electronics. There were also reported incidents where areas frequented by Fae played havoc with digital images and mobile reception even when there were none of the fair folk present. James had mentioned that the area around the mine had not only been booby-trapped but also had several distinct areas with the scent of Fae including inside the mine. Given all the evidence they had it was highly unlikely that a powerful Fae had been in the mine when it collapsed. Thus the only thing that made since was some sort of magical protection. If the protection collapsed when the mine did, that potentially could have caused the problem with the mobile.

Q wished he could take the time to go to Sussex. It would be a long shot but the green man in the garden might be able to shed some light on the issue. Q’s family had resided in Sussex for generations and for generations they had protected not only the land but also the Fae that was tied to it. It was a mutually beneficial relationship; the family provided protective camouflage and kept the development away in exchange for knowledge. The green man himself said he was only a minor power tied as he was to a particular patch of countryside. Q suspected otherwise. Within his realm the green man reigned supreme and Q was almost certain that only a very powerful Fae would have even half a chance of controlling him on his home turf.

The green man was also quite old. Judging from the few hints he’d let fall he had been old when he had chosen to tie himself to the land. He’d done that to protect himself in the middle ages from the rise of those who hunted Fae with the church’s permission. Surely with his age he’d be able to explain to Q the ins and outs of magical protections. Of course Q would need to have something to trade with. No Fae, even one with an existing relationship with humans would ever give information away for free. Q didn’t have any idea what he’d offer in exchange. For that matter he had no idea if the green man would even speak to him now given his change in status. No, it was looking like he’d not be able get anything more from the mobile.

Realizing that staring at Toby’s mobile wasn’t getting anything done Q looked back to the report he’d been reading. _Magnus_ was one of the few words recovered and Toby had repeated it several times. The information James had retrieved in Romania as well as some coded messages from the Crimson Lotus indicated that this Magnus had either strong ties in the Fae community or was Fae himself. The other mention of Magnus, when Q had assisted Watson in rescuing his flat mate, and the word _gems_ had had rendered the tenuous connection between the smuggling operation, the arms dealers and the MET’s stolen jewelry murder into something a bit more probable.

It had been a simple matter to hack into the Yard and get the case files. Q had then delegated the analysis to Intentions but, judging from the report he was reading, they hadn’t managed to get anything new on the MET’s case. As had been noted by several DI’s that had worked with Holmes; he had the bad habit of keeping everything important in his head until he’d worked out the details. Apparently once he’d figured it all out he’d pull a massive data dump connecting all the evidence in rapid fire exposition. One DI had noted in an e-mail to his superiors that when Mr. Holmes got going you’d better know how to take shorthand or have a mobile with a recording app otherwise you’d miss at least half of it.

In this case Mr. Holmes had provided deductions regarding the jewelry thieves, the murderer as well as information on the gentlemen who had attempted to abduct him. Of course the latter had been from two of the abductee’s bodies in the morgue since Mr. Holmes had been drugged at the time of the incident and the thugs had perished in the NSY holding cell altercation. Dr. Watson had provided a description of the third man and the Fae. All the evidence from the various crime scenes had been processed with no real leads. It looked like the case was quickly going cold.

The only thing that might have helped Intentions out would have been Mr. Holmes’ internet browsing history. Unfortunately that was not easily obtained. Mr. Holmes’ computer habits both on his and Dr. Watson’s computers made capturing such highly labor intensive without a direct line to the machine or a bug in the flat. With someone as observant as Mr. Holmes neither was a good option. In fact, Q knew that every time MI-5 had ever attempted to bug 221 B baker street they’d ended up with a pile of broken equipment placed in a box on the front step. To make matters worse the time the Americans had attempted it the agent involved ended up defenestrated, multiple times.

Q switched to the other report. While Intentions had been analyzing the MET’s case Q had commissioned a bit of extra-curricular intelligence gathering. The MET had only verified the ownership of the stolen jewelry but hadn’t gone digging into the history of same. The Fae connection made him think that there just might be some reason why those particular houses and or pieces had been targeted. He suspected that the thieves were after certain gems so information on the stolen pieces might prove useful.

Due to the subject matter getting information wasn’t as easy as just hacking into a database. While insurance companies and jewelers tended to keep a certain amount of information accessible, proprietary designs and historical provenance were often hard copy or stored on non-internet linked computers. Q and his minions had done what they could electronically but very quickly he had determined that what was needed was some good old fashioned legwork. Luckily, 001 and 004 were cooling their heels waiting for assignment while 006 had just returned and was on mandatory post mission leave. Bored 00’s was a recipe for disaster so permission to sick them on the jewelry issue had been quickly granted.

Unsurprisingly the elite agents had come through in spectacular and coordinated fashion. 001 had gone with traditional breaking and entering. When he had completed his task he very adeptly set off the alarm system at each establishment he had burgled making it seem that the alarm had deterred a break in. That set up an opportunity for 006 to pose as a security consultant for one of the large insurance companies. Under the auspices of tightening security due to the rash of attempted thefts Alec managed to get information from several more jewelers while improving their security protocols. 004 had taken the personal approach. She, with James’ permission, had borrowed Toby and they’d posed as a couple looking for a customized engagement ring. A couple days ago they’d come back to Q branch giggling after having planted bugs on several stand-alone computers.

The information as compiled by the minions from the intelligence gathering efforts was very interesting. Most of the stolen jewelry contained gemstones which had been removed from older pieces and reset into new designs. It appeared from the notes that several of the larger stones had been re-cut or split into smaller pieces. A couple others had been passed down relatively intact from the early Victorian period. There was one real interesting tidbit in a set of appraiser’s notes that caught Q’s eye. Apparently the owner’s family had a story that the gems contained in a particular necklace had been part of the personal fortune of a Roman noble who had been part of the occupation forces during the reign of Emperor Hadrian. The appraiser had indicated that several of the gems in question were cut in the ancient style and had wear consistent with the purported age. Q pondered a moment then checked the transcript from Toby’s mobile. The words _gems, stolen_ and _magic_ were very close together. The analysis had linked the word _stolen_ to _magic_ but given the timing it could have just as easily been _gems stolen_ rather than _stolen magic_. Were the Fae trying to regain or obtain magic gems? If so, Q thought, the whole mess would start to resemble a children’s story of the Brothers Grimm variety.

Suddenly his computer threw up a time alarm box in the middle of the screen. Q cleared it and started to shut down. It was a full moon night. The plan was that he’d shift at Monneypenny’s then he and Alec were going to go jogging. A test of the newest iteration of his wolf ECM collar as well as some modifications to the medical telemetry was also on the agenda. He and Alec had started the testing the previous month before the 00 had been sent out and Q was anxious to see how his improvements to both sets of equipment performed. Toby, who was currently working with Mattie on a streamlined explosive device for use in car gas tanks would spend his first full moon night with James, locked down in the werewolf proof basement flat.

Q looked up from loading his bag with the test equipment expecting to see James. Instead it was Laura, 004, who walked into the branch. She nodded at Q then made a beeline for Toby. Q acknowledged the nod and returned to his packing but angled himself to listen in.

“Hey R,” she called when she was half-way across the room “can James and I borrow Toby for the rest of the day?”

“Sure we were just finishing up,” R replied. From the interactions of these three over the last few weeks Q was sure that Mattie had figured out Toby’s new status and it was clear 004 knew as well.

“Don’t I have a say in this?” Toby objected half laughing.

“No!” both R and Laura chorused.

“Ok, Ok. I’m coming.” He saved the file then shut down the tablet they’d been working on.

As Toby moved to join Laura, Q caught what felt like a surge of anxiety from the young man. Q made a mental note to talk to James about that. James had said that the pack ties all ran to the Alpha. According to him it wasn’t full blown telepathy or empathy but when one was pack the Alpha could get a rough idea of location and physical condition of a particular pack member if he wanted to. What was strange was that Q seemed to have something similar. Since he’d been bound into the pack Q had been getting flashes of emotion from both Toby and James. If he concentrated he could even tell their mood even if they weren’t in the same room. It was definitely strange and something that would need to be investigated.

Thinking of investigations reminded Q that he too needed to get going. He zipped up his bag and officially handed off the branch operations to R. He almost crashed into Toby and Laura who were having a quiet conversation in the corridor, bodies angled to avoid anyone lip reading from the camera feeds. They fell silent as he careened into their personal space.

It was relatively awkward. Due to the surveillance in the hallways and the camera locations Q knew he couldn’t reassure Toby like he wanted to. He finally just settled on saying “Good luck working with 007 tonight. Try not to break anything!” and giving the young man a pat on the shoulder.

Before Toby could answer 004 chimed in, “Don’t worry Q. I’ll be around most of the evening so Toby can call for help if he needs me to beat some sense into James.”

Q raised his eyebrows at that. So 004 was going to hang around and stand vigil. It also seemed that the fact seemed to be alleviating Toby’s fears to a certain degree. Interesting.

“I’ll be fine.” Toby interjected then added, “Have fun with your field testing sir!”

“Will do,” he replied and took off so he could rendezvous with Moneypenny and 006 in the carpark.

*******

Q came out of his shift feeling a bit off. The shift itself had taken longer and had felt somewhat rougher than last month. Q wasn’t worried. James had mentioned that some shifts just seemed to be harder than others. This was obviously one of those times.

Q shook his fur to settle it. It always amazed him that a simple shake would tame his fur. Regardless of what he seemed to do, it took a load of products and a minimum of 30 minutes to make his hair look anything other than slightly mussed. He stretched then padded out into the kitchen.

“Looking good Q,” Alec commented as Q sat in front of Moneypenny.

Moneypenny obliged and picked up the new collar. “This one’s lighter than the last one,” she commented, “Improvements or did you take out some of the tech?”

Q gave her a look.

She laughed as she knelt down and fastened it around his neck. “I know. It’s always improvements with you boffins!”

He huffed at her then bumped her playfully.

“OK,” she reached out and scratched his head behind his ears.

“I wish I could have a picture of that,” Alec chimed in as he adjusted the monitor that was a replica of a Celtic torc. “Q would most likely kill me though,” he added as he checked the link to the watch which doubled as a data storage device. “All set. You ready to go?”

Q disengaged from Moneypenny’s hands. Despite her misgivings about what essentially was fondling a superior officer she really knew exactly how to scratch away the left over post shift tingles.

Moneypenny stood up then grabbed a heavy blanket from the back of a nearby chair and tossed it at Alec. “Here. That will keep the worst of the hair off the seats and holes out of the upholstery.”

“Yes mother,” Alec teased her then added, “We’ll be back after midnight. I’ll call in if it’s going to be later.”

“You do that.” She tried to keep a straight face then gave up and grinned. “Off you go now!” she opened the door for them.

******

Moneypenny had snagged a nondescript sedan from the motor pool for tonight’s antics. Even though Alec grumbled about the lack of power Q was grateful for both the blanket and the large backseat. He could just imagine attempting to cram himself into the Audi Alec usually drove or even worse attempting to fit into James’ beloved Aston Martin. As it was the sedan was perfect for their destination. It would fit right in parked on the street and not attract any undue attention or be a magnet for car thieves.

Q had planned a jogging route that contained a variety of cameras as well as some rather sophisticated electronic alarm systems and a couple of mobile dead zones. He hoped that the data he collected would enable him to further refine the camera fogging properties of the collar. He also wanted to test if the collar would cause problems for security systems, the medical telemetry, or show up like a neon light in the electronic dead zones. What he hadn’t counted on was running into a police action.

They’d just jogged around a corner when Q heard the soft pop of a silenced firearm followed immediately by the sound of a bullet ricocheting off the pavement. Alec, with years of experience being shot at, automatically determined the most likely source and rolled over the boot of a nearby car to take cover. Q scrambled around the back bumper and realized that they were not the only ones hiding from the gunfire.

“…backup damn it!” a silver haired man was talking urgently into his mobile. He glanced at Alec and Q then continued, “I’ve got a civilian and a dog pinned down with me not to mention my consultants who won’t be able to get out until this is cleared!” He listened for a moment “Better send them in quiet. I don’t know what we are dealing with and if the drug manufacturers are armed…” he trailed off listening again. “O.K.” he said and rang off.

Before the silver haired man, who from the overheard conversation Q gathered was clearly a member of the MET and most likely a DI, could ask Alec spoke. “Not a civilian.”

“What?”

“I’m not a civilian,” Alec grinned. “SIS. So what’s with a sniper using a silenced weapon doing taking pot shots at a DI?”

Alec had come to the same conclusion that Q had regarding their companion.

“What department?” the silver haired man asked conveniently ignoring Alec’s question.

Alec raised an eyebrow.

“Fucking spies” the man muttered under his breath.

Alec in the meantime had taken off his light running jacket and was positioning himself toward the front of the car. In a quick move he flipped the jacket so it was visible over the bonnet and at the same time peered around the front bumper.

There were two shots in quick succession.

“He’s up on the top of that building,” Alec pointed, “and he’s a pro.”

The DI grunted in agreement then spotted Alec’s Walther in its shoulder holster. “Umm, do you have an Id number I can verify?” He said looking pointedly at the firearm while fiddling with his mobile. Whomever he had called picked up on the first ring because he didn’t even wait for Alec to confirm that he did have a number before speaking “Hey Abagail, can you verify an Id number for me?” He looked at Alec then nodded a go ahead.

Alec obligingly recited his Id number that existed for just such a situation.

The MET officer repeated it and then listened for a moment. He sighed and said “Thanks Alice,” followed by “I will.” He looked at Alec then. “She told me to request that you not burn anything down this time and to remind you that you still owe her a bottle of vodka.”

Q could tell that Alec was surprised even though his demeanor didn’t show it. “I’m Alec,” he said by way of introduction. “Oh, and this is Queue” he added ruffling the fur on Q’s head.

“Greg Lestrade,” the silver haired man replied holding out his hand for Q to sniff.

Q stuck out his tongue and wagged his tail to appear friendly then sniffed at the man in greeting. He memorized the man’s scent. So this was the DI in charge of the murder portion of the gem case. He was also Holmes’ usual liaison with the MET. That meant that the consultants, plural, Lestrade had mentioned were most likely Holmes and Watson. Wonderful.

“Where’s your drug lab?” Alec asked.

“Right across the street the green door on that boarded up shop. My Sergeant was working on cordoning off the area and we were going to move in slowly but I don’t want anyone in close ‘till we get rid of that guard with the rifle up there.”

Alec looked around then thought for a moment. Q suspected that he was remembering the map of the jogging route Q had shown him. “I don’t think that’s a guard.” He said thoughtfully. “If I were setting things up, that’s exactly where I’d put my covering fire for a raid.”

“Bloody hell! You mean we’ve potentially got another group involved?” Lestrade thumbed his phone.

Just then the wind shifted. Q got a good whiff of werewolf overlaid with wet rotting vegetation and a hint of Fae. The last time he’d smelled the latter combination had been in the alleyway with Watson. Crap. Q looked around the car’s back bumper. There was a door in the building across the street. Q had no clue as to whether it was green or not since he couldn’t see that color when four footed. What was important though was the window next to the door looked like it was covered over with cheap plywood. Objective determined Q took off across the road.

“Damnit Q! What the hell do you think you are doing?” Alec yelled from behind the car.

Surprisingly there were no gunshots immediately. Good, Q thought, the sniper must think that he’s part of the werewolf group that is invading the drug den. He put on a burst of speed. Hopefully he’d be through the window before the sniper discovered his error.

Alec was swearing predominantly in Russian somewhere behind him. There was a shot and Lestrade’s voice ordering “Get down!”

As he leapt toward the window Q heard Alec say loudly to no one in particular, “James is going to kill me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that there is now a chapter count. Yes, gentle readers, that means I've finished drafting the last chapter. Updates from this point forward will happen as I have time to do the final edits on the remaining chapters. Let me know what you think of the chapter title on this one. As always kudos, comments, Brit picks and constructive criticism are welcome.


	20. Deductions and Drug Labs

It had been several days since what John was mentally calling _that epic snog in the Kitchen_ and it was clear that Sherlock still didn’t know quite what to think about it. After the kiss he’d looked somewhat stunned. John had helped him up off the Kitchen floor and had just about been ready to offer tea when Sherlock had whirled and fled to his room for the rest of the night. The next morning he had treated John as he normally did, as if nothing at all momentous had happened. In fact there had been only minor differences in Sherlock’s behavior over the last few days. The most obvious one was that he’d catch Sherlock watching him closely with a strange look on his face whenever he thought John wouldn’t notice. He also seemed to be lapsing into his thinking mode whenever he wasn’t actively engaged on the case. Since he never came out of these sessions with a string of deductions on his lips, John had a hunch that Sherlock was in the process of a major remodeling of his mind palace. Of course Sherlock would need some time to adjust for the fact that they’d snogged. John suspected that what might be causing the problem was the fact that for all intents and purposes Sherlock had found he enjoyed it. Whatever the underlying issue it was clearly going take some time for him to come to terms with just what more he wanted, if anything. It was fine. It was all fine. John would wait.

After all John could empathize with the situation. A crisis of sexuality was never easy to deal with. His had come a year and a half after Sherlock fell courtesy of a nurse, Mary, he’d been dating. He’d only just been able to start talking about Sherlock to others and Mary had received the brunt of the unburdening. To be perfectly honest about it, John thought, she’d put up with his obsessing about Sherlock far longer than anyone really should have before finally saying her piece. She’d told him that it was obvious that he was still in love with his dead flat mate and regretted the fact that he’d not told him or tried to see if anything could have developed from it. When he’d objected that he really wasn’t gay she’d just looked at him and said “That doesn’t mean anything. You loved him and nothing else will work until you figure it out.” She’d refused to go out with him any more after that. It had taken quite a bit of soul searching at that time and again when Sherlock had returned but now John was comfortable with what he’d figured out about his own sexuality and what he wanted from any relationship, for lack of a better term, with Sherlock.

As near as John could tell Sherlock was having a similar experience. Despite what Moriarty had called him, John was almost certain Sherlock was not a virgin. No one could kiss like that without a substantial amount of practical experience. No judging by Sherlock’s reactions to amorous advances, his acerbic commentary on emotional attachments, and his avoidance of any sexually charged situation; he had experimented at some point and had decided it wasn’t worth his time or effort. John really hoped that the whole set of avoidance behaviors were Sherlock deciding that he was asexual than the result of bad experiences. Although the more he thought about it, the reaction to the kiss and the part panicked part longing glances over the last few days when he thought John wasn’t looking; it was a high probability that there was something sexually traumatic in Sherlock’s past.

Luckily Sherlock had not been spending his entire time focused on his feelings. That would have been a sheer recipe for disaster. Information regarding the stolen gem case had been arriving via the homeless network, who had recently started calling themselves _The Baker Street Irregulars_ , in a steady stream. The map they had started marking up had acquired quite a few more notations regarding the illicit drug trade. They had identified dealer territories, a couple of suppliers and had marked locations that might just be manufacturing operations. In between the bits and pieces provided by his network Sherlock had been researching the anti-Fae group _Brighter Futures_. He had a theory that their third man might have been a part of that group which would explain his connection to the two former bouncers. Unfortunately the group didn’t have a high degree of web presence and Sherlock had been reduced to combing through news media reports about both it and the parent group _The Golden Dawn_. In the middle of the second day he’d also asked the Irregulars for the word on the street about both groups. The results had been interesting and Sherlock was now lying on the sofa in his thinking mode digesting the information.

John had been working on and off all day attempting to type up one of their older cases. He didn’t expect Sherlock to come out of his thinking mode in anything less than three hours thus he jumped when Sherlock suddenly spoke up.

“I can’t deduce the connection.”

“What?”

“Why would a group that discourages drug and alcohol use because it makes people more susceptible to Fae magic have any connection at all to the illicit drug trade?”

John saved the file he was working on and closed his laptop. “Because they wanted to make lots of money fast?”

Sherlock snorted, “No, the _Golden Dawn_ is incredibly well funded by anonymous donors and I suspect some of the same people are also funding Brighter Futures.”

“Maybe you are looking at it the wrong way round?” John remarked. “Why would a drug dealer want to associate with a group that’s out to restrict his livelihood?”

Sherlock thought for a moment then his face cleared suddenly, “Restrict…eliminate…Ah! They are looking for protection from a bigger threat.”

“Or the old _enemy of my enemy is my friend_ deal. In this situation given the anti-drug stance of the group in question I doubt it would be a friendly relationship; more like the lesser of two evils.”

“John!” Sherlock suddenly sat bolt upright, “That’s it! Tell me why do the Fae chase off all the dealers and object to new pharmacies in areas near their enclaves and gathering places?”

John thought for a moment and replied, “Because many drugs have different effects on Fae than on humans. I had to be very careful with the part Fae I treated since often the effects of even common medications would be greater or less than the equivalent human dosage. It was almost like they were having an allergic reaction to an entire class of pharmaceuticals. What was really frustrating was that it seemed to be different for every patient and I had to rely on them to tell me.” John sighed, “Luckily it’s hard to render a part Fae unconscious or otherwise incapable of communicating otherwise I might have lost a couple of them.”

“And?”

“And what? There are lots of different types of Fae and no one substance is going to affect them all….” John trailed off suddenly seeing at least part of what Sherlock was implying.

Sherlock picked up the thought, “If they are researching something that would affect all Fae types then it would require a substantial amount of funds and some sophisticated lab equipment. If I were doing something like this I’d need…” he trailed off. “Hand me your laptop!”

John glowered at him, “Yours is on the kitchen table you berk!”

“But only one of us has to move if you hand me yours!” Sherlock pointed out.

John sighed, picked up his laptop and handed it over.

Sherlock flashed him a smile then set to work. John picked up a novel he’d been reading. This was liable to take a while.

John had managed to make it through about five chapters when he noticed that the clicking of keys and the accompanying _hmms_ and snorts had stopped. He looked up to see Sherlock staring at him again with the same strange look on his face. This time, however, he got a good look at the expression rather than just a glance since Sherlock didn’t hide his expression but simply met his eyes when John stared back. It was one part Sherlock’s I’m puzzled face combined with something that looked a bit like trepidation. On the other hand Sherlock’s body language seemed to indicate something that on any other person would indicate being nervous or unsure. Given that John had never seen Sherlock exhibit the former and only rarely the latter god only knew what revelation this portended. John put down his book ready for most anything. He already knew his response; he’d take whatever Sherlock was willing to offer be it simple platonic friendship or something more.

Sherlock must have read something from his body langue or facial expressions because he looked as if he was going to speak when his mobile vibrated on the coffee table. They both stared at it. The device obligingly vibrated again; a call then rather than a text. There were only two people who would normally call Sherlock’s phone and one of them would only call if something was highly urgent while the other would call merely to annoy his brother. Sherlock glared at the mobile and picked it up as it vibrated the third time.

He answered it with snarly, “It better be at least a six.”

Lestrade then, John thought. He watched Sherlock’s face go from annoyed, to neutral, to interest as the DI explained whatever the case was.

Less than a minute later, Lestrade must have been talking very fast, Sherlock said “I’ll come” and rang off.

John cocked his head indicating he was ready to listen.

“Body on the top of a set of council flats, looks like drowning was the cause of death but for the lack of water.” Sherlock paused and grinned at him, “Tar and gravel roof but no footprints.” Sherlock stood up and headed for his coat still grinning, “Oh and the roof access was locked. Coming?”

John had already started up from his chair, “God yes!”

*********

Two hours later John was regretting his enthusiasm. He was hanging off a rickety fire escape, his bad shoulder was aching and his flat mate had to all intents abandoned him in his hurry to get to the top of the building. The whole situation was a bit not good.

The crime scene had been quite an eye opener. The fracture of the hyoid bone indicated strangulation but the victim’s lungs were full of water. What had been really interesting however was the residual magic John had sensed on the body. He hadn’t quite known how to alert Lestrade and his crew. Luckily Sherlock had picked up on his body language and deduced it. A quick sprinkling of dust over the body made the rune on the victim’s forehead standout as the magic attracted the particles and held them in place. It read “lies” and John knew that they’d find another on the chest reading “betrayal.” John had winced as the rune had been revealed causing Sherlock to ask. He’d seen this before although usually carved into the skin with a knife. The Taliban had taken to using the traditional Fae labeling of oath breakers for those they thought were double agents. It looked like someone, given the fact that the runes were magic it was most likely a Fae, had considered the man a traitor or discovered that he was a double agent.

Once John had relayed his information Lestrade’s response had been to swear. He was not pleased to have another case of his with Fae involvement. Sherlock on the other hand had looked like a child who had just received the best Christmas present ever. He proceeded to rattle off a whole series of deductions about the man and his activities and the last few days of his life. He didn’t bother to explain just how he knew that the dead man was originally from Leicestershire, had been hiding because he’d stolen something from one of his multiple employers and had been attempting to fence it to fund his side business of drug manufacturing. It had taken Sherlock leading the entire crew down to a storage closet in the basement of the block of flats where the man had been hiding out and finding a couple high quality gemstones cleverly hidden in the soft plaster behind some exposed piping before Lestrade took him seriously. There were also some drug capsules containing an unknown substance which was likely, according to one of the constables, the newest version of GBH that had been showing up recently. That was the point where John managed to get a word in edgewise to let everyone know that the man in question just happened to be the third member of the crew who had attempted to dump Sherlock in the Thames.

They had left Lestrade scrambling to get a team together to search for the drug manufacturing operation. Sherlock had helpfully narrowed down the area they needed to search based upon the mud on the victim’s shoes, some stains on his trousers and the compiled map. Of course Sherlock was not willing to leave the rest to the police so they had proceeded to canvass the area in question themselves.

They had been wandering around area for half an hour or so when Sherlock had suddenly stopped saying “Text Lestrade that address” as he pointed to a building halfway down the next block.

No sooner had John done so then Sherlock had ducked into an alley, jumped up on an industrial sized bin, then scrambled up a fire escape leaving John to follow as best he could. The fact that the fire escape had broken as he attempted to ascend in his mad flat mate’s wake had led to his current predicament.

Just as John was going to attempt to swing his legs in hopes of getting his feet up on the edge of the top of the fire escape one of his arms was grasped in a firm grip. This was followed by a hand grabbing his coat and jumper and Sherlock bodily hauling him over the edge of the fire escape and onto the roof.

“I had to incapacitate a guard,” he said softly. “The lab is in the next building over. We’ll need to be quiet not to alert the people inside. Luckily they have placed boards for use as walkways between several buildings so we won’t have to jump.”

It was at this point that John suddenly realized several things: One, Sherlock had not released his grip after depositing John safely on the roof and he was nose to nose with the detective, half cradled in his arms; Two, he was gripping Sherlock’s arms in an attempt to prolong the embrace; Three, he had a serious urge to say _to hell with the drug lab_ and just kiss the man senseless. John might have just done it but for realization number four. They had an audience in the form of the tied up guard. Of course, Sherlock had managed to deduce all of this from the flickers of emotion on John’s face.

“Later” he whispered as he let John go.

Entering the building with the drug lab was laughably easy. There had only been the one guard on the roof and there was none stationed on the top floor. As they carefully made their way down the back staircase it became clear that something was happening.

“We’ve got to pack it up!” a young sounding voice was saying. “There’s cops all over the building where Albert had his squat. They even called in that Holmes guy. You know, the one who convinced _The Consultant_ to commit suicide then single handedly took out most of his network. They only call him for the strange stuff so that means they are on to us!”

Sherlock had made it down the stairs at that point and he darted down the hall and into a room. John followed a bit more slowly covering the hall as he went just in case the criminals came out of the front room where they apparently were meeting.

John was just about to leave the hall when he heard. “Don’t panic.” It was an older sounding voice with a tone of command. “George, pack the product. Liam, grab the essentials out of the lab. The rest of you get armed and be ready to move out. If you have to shoot make sure to fire three times.”

Fire three times, John knew that drill. First bullet was standard, the second would be a silver jacket or silver tip and the third would be blessed. It was a standard load used when you knew you were dealing with the Fae. It also worked relatively well on werewolves due to the silver. The only problem was that you had to be a pretty good and fast shot to hit what you were aiming at three times before it got to you. That was why John’s gun was loaded with blessed silver-tips. They were more expensive but you only needed one.

John nipped into the room. Sherlock was standing looking around intently at the lab equipment.

“Company coming!” John hissed at him as he positioned himself behind the door.

Sherlock grabbed a notebook lying on the table then moved so he wouldn’t be in direct line of sight. It wasn’t a moment too soon. The door opened and a man walked in holding a rucksack. John cold cocked him with the butt of his gun.

“I’ve got what I need,” Sherlock said as he rushed over and helped John lower the man to the ground.

As John arranged his victim in the recovery position he got a good look at the bloke’s face. It was Liam, Sherlock’s ex-drug dealer. John raised his eyebrows at Sherlock in a silent question.

“He didn’t lie,” Sherlock whispered. “He got promoted to chemist.” Sherlock indicated the notebook.

John was just going to suggest that they make a strategic retreat when something else caught his eye over near the lab bench. He glanced that way only to have his magical sight kick in full force. There was something on that bench that was so powerful that he couldn’t see what it was for the glare. He blinked and the glare was gone. In its place was a simple pewter cup. It was placed at the back of the lab bench with a couple of other cups and glasses. John darted over and grabbed it. On the way back to his place at the door John liberated the rucksack and dumped the cup into it. Sherlock gave him a raised eyebrow, handing him the book. Judging from the sounds they were going to have to time this very carefully to make it from the room and up the back stairs without being seen. Sherlock glanced around the room again, his eyes lighting on a set of shelves that contained a variety of chemicals. He ran over and grabbed a couple of bottles and returned quickly.

“Hustle Liam,” someone yelled from just outside in the hall.

John held his breath tensing for action but the person moved on past without entering or waiting for a reply.

Sherlock in the meantime had uncorked the bottles and dumped half the contents of one on the floor.

Suddenly there was a loud crash from the front of the building. There was yelling and running feet as most of the inhabitants converged on the front room. Sherlock shrugged.

“Back door?” John whispered.

Sherlock nodded and they headed out into the hall and toward the back. They didn’t make it very far before there was a yell from the front, “Damn it there’s another one, shoot!”

There was a bass snarl followed by a scream and three shots in quick succession. A door crashed open and a familiar long haired brown wolf came charging down the hall toward them, it was Q. He skidded to a stop and whirled as another scream rang out this one cutting off suddenly. Sherlock and John kept working their way toward the back door. Another werewolf, a large grey and tan one ran into the hall. It was growling. John didn’t recognize the markings but it was clear from Q’s behavior that this wolf wasn’t friendly. It spotted John and his gun and ducked into the lab.

“I’ll need a clear shot,” John muttered knowing that Q’s sensitive wolf hearing would pick it up.

The temperature in the hall dropped. Sherlock had managed to get the back door open. The unfriendly wolf stuck his nose around the door jam. John fired and it withdrew.

Q had almost backed up to John’s position when Sherlock suddenly said “Vatican Cameos!”

John dropped to one knee and a bottle flew over his head crashing into the door of the lab and breaking. John caught a whiff of something that smelled like rotten eggs just as Sherlock yelled “Run!”

John came up out of his crouch and sprinted for the door with Q right behind. They tore down the alley after Sherlock who had paused at the corner. He took off as soon as they reached him clearly expecting them to follow. They made it down the street and almost into another alley when Q made a strangled yelp and stumbled into John.

John looked down and realized what the problem was. Q had been hit by a bullet. Judging by his response potentially more than one. As John watched Q righted himself and kept moving even though he was limping. What was strange, John thought, was that he hadn’t heard a shot or the dull thud of a silenced weapon. Silenced rifle? Whatever, they needed to keep going and get out of the area fast.

“Sherlock, Q’s hit. We need a car or somewhere to go to ground.” He looked again at Q who was managing to keep up now using only three legs, whimpering whenever he bumped the right rear one.

“In a block or two. That workable?”

“Probably,” John replied. Q was now interspersing whimpers with a grumbling growl that was the wolf equivalent of a litany of swears.

It was only half a block later when Sherlock said “Ha!”

He’d found a generic white sedan. Not too old, not too new and a model that John figured Sherlock knew how to hot wire. It turned out that he didn’t have to. While Sherlock was working on the door Q limped up to the car, sniffed a bit then made a low half bark at the rear wheel well. John ran his hand on the inside and found a protrusion that when pushed dropped an emergency key into his hand. By that time Sherlock had just jimmied the door open.

“Here!” John tossed the key to Sherlock who hopped in and started the car.

John then helped Q get into the back seat settling him onto a handy blanket. In the process John realized that Q was not only hot but shaking a bit. Shit. He’d been hit by silver. If it was through and through things wouldn’t be too bad. If the bullet was lodged however, they’d need to get somewhere he could work on the injury stat. John racked his brains for the nearest available location.

“Sherlock, we need to get to Bart’s and into the morgue overflow unseen.” John climbed into the backseat with Q who was whimpering almost nonstop now. He hoped that Q would remain calm and remember not to bite if he was jostled during the ride. “I’m going to see if this phone number on his collar can get us some help. I’ll need his either his alpha or Mr. McKellan if I have to dig bullets out of him.”

Sherlock grunted in acknowledgement as he put the car into motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to Caelulum who noticed and commented on the shout out to a completely unrelated fandom. I had wondered if anyone was going to pick up on that.


	21. Emergencies are Always Inconvenient

Something was wrong. James raised his head to get a better scent; nothing. He looked at his newest sleeping wolf. Nothing wrong there either other than the fact that Toby was a rather strange wolf. Once he’d managed to get through a frankly agonizing first change Toby was smaller than Q which put him as one of the smallest wolves James had ever seen. The strangeness didn’t stop there. From his black tipped ears, red fur with a white chest, black sox, and the tip of his tail that looked like it had been dipped in a pot of white paint; Toby looked more fox than wolf.

James thought that he really shouldn’t have been surprised. His pack was already non-traditional. Up until six months ago it had only contained a bunch of human spies and assassins along with a handful of the MI6 upper management team. Now he had, in addition, a long furred wolf with authority issues and something that looked like a wolf/fox hybrid. Shaun was going to laugh his ass off and tell him he deserved it.

James still had the feeling that something was amiss so he got up off the bed where he’d been lying with Toby and made the rounds of the safe room complex. It was still locked down and nothing was out of place. He was just about to return to the bedroom when his mobile vibrated. There was only one way that his mobile would go off when these rooms were locked down, Moneypenny was calling because Q was in trouble.

He took a deep breath. He’d had over three hours in wolf form. That should be sufficient. James had changed back with less time as a wolf. In fact, he’d gone completely unchanged on a number of occasions; one of those had been under torture. Changing back before moonset was a struggle but it was doable. A matter of willpower and determination. Keeping the fact in mind that he was going to need to be on two feet to protect his pack James started.

Several minutes later, before his skin had even calmed down, James grabbed his mobile and hit redial.

Moneypenny answered on the first ring, “James?”

“What’s the problem?”

“I received a call less than ten minutes ago. Male voice. From the background noise he was in a car. He said that my _dog_ had been injured and I needed to send someone with authority to come deal with things. He asked for someone to meet him at Bart’s in the morgue overflow.”

“So Q’s either been snatched by someone who knows what he is and how to contain him or he really did get hurt and just happened to run into someone who knows about dealing with werewolf injuries. Did you get anything else?”

“Faint whimpering in the background. I had Q branch try and run the number. The ownership records are blocked and there’s a security code on the GPS location function. They are attempting to hack it now.

“Interesting,” James’ voice had an undertone of growl. There were only a few reasons he could think of for someone that wasn’t in the government to have their records and GPS blocked. None of them were good. “Ring him back and tell him I’ll be there in 40 minutes or less. Gear up with whatever you have and circle Bart’s ready to back me up.”

“Will do,” Moneypenny said and rang off.

James glanced toward the bedroom thinking fast. What could he do to ensure Toby’s safety and sanity while he went to rescue Q? Toby was relatively well integrated wolf wise. Not as shockingly integrated as Q had been during his first change but rather well in control none the less. What James really needed was a pack beta to make sure Toby stayed calm and didn’t panic. The only other thing that might keep an unsteady wolf calm was...James realized that if his observations from the memorial service in Q branch were correct he had just the person for the job. A simple call on the in-house line to the 00 break room set things in motion.

Next item, James thought, gear. Q branch was on the night shift but the female voice who answered sounded obnoxiously perky despite the late hour.

“Q-branch, purveyors of mayhem and destruction, how may I help you?” she chirped.

“This is Bond,” he growled. “The Quartermaster is in trouble. I need gear including a firearm, coms, a couple of miniature smoke grenades and anything else you think would be useful in infiltrating a hospital basement.”

“Yes sir, it will be ready in five!” she responded and rang off.

James punched in the override code for the doors then turned to go get dressed only to find Toby sitting in the bedroom doorway looking curiously at him.

“I’ll brief you as I get dressed.” He said as he moved. “It’s an emergency and I’m the only one who can deal with it. I’m going to leave you in one of the reinforced holding cells with some of my sweats. The scent should help you stay calm. 004 will stay with you outside the bars. I should be back before moonset but if not you should shift back normally by tomorrow morning.”

Toby made a questioning whine.

“No, I need you to stay here.” James backed the order with his alpha authority.

Toby went down on his belly, ears flattened.

“I’ll need you to take care of the rest of the MI6 pack. If it really goes pear shaped you’ll need to talk to Shaun. He’s listed as an emergency contact in my _eyes only_ file.”

Toby grunted his assent but looked profoundly unhappy.

“It won’t come to that,” James reassured him. “Come on, let’s get you relocated.”

It didn’t take long to get Toby settled into the secure cell with 004 sitting outside the bars. She’d not only brought James’ sweats but also a couple of blankets and a bowl of ground meat that she’d liberated from the cafeteria kitchen. As he left she started rolling it into balls in preparation for feeding it to Toby.

James broke into a jog as soon as he cleared the room heading for the lifts and Q-Branch. He didn’t get very far because in the lift lobby stood Lynne with a box of what clearly was equipment.

As he paused she hit the call button with her elbow then reached into the box and fished out a gun and shoulder rig. He shrugged into the holster and checked the gun without a word. It was the standard palm print recognition Walther. He holstered it and replaced his jacket. The lift arrived and they both got in. James hit the button for the parking level.

“Communication gear,” Lynne handed it to him before the doors had even slid closed.

James slipped it on. A perfect fit as usual.

Lynne continued smoothly, “Standard miniature smoke grenades, lock pick set including an electronic one, and a signal jammer,” she handed him three small spheres, a leather wallet and a palm sized square box with a button from the box. “The jammer is good for 100 meters in the clear, somewhat less indoors due to pipes and wiring in the walls. It will take out cameras, mobiles and unshielded electronic devices when you turn it on. It has an hour or so of battery life. I wouldn’t set it off in the A&E or an ICU but down in the basement of a hospital should be alright.”

James put the items into various pockets as the lift doors opened into the car park.

“Take the Audi,” she tossed him the keys “It has decent armor, enough space in the back and horsepower to spare.”

James started toward the car expecting Lynne to stay at the lift. Instead she kept up with him holding out one more item.

“And this!” she said. “I didn’t think we made these anymore.”

He looked at what she had handed him. It was a pen.

“Click the top twice in quick succession to arm, count to three and throw. I don’t know how old it is but it should still explode.

He put the pen in his pocket, hopped into the car, started it then peeled out of the car park at what was clearly an unsafe speed.

He hadn’t made it through the first roundabout when Lynne’s voice came in over his earpiece, “I’ll be on your coms. Ask if you need anything. Bring our evil overlord back 007.”

James was impressed. To be on the coms that fast the petite tech must have flat out run back to Q branch taking the stairs as opposed to the lift. He made a mental note not to underestimate the physicality of Q’s minions. They might not look like much but he now knew that at least one of them was seriously fit.

Less than twenty minutes later James pulled the Audi into an empty space near St. Bart’s Hospital. The car was halfway in a loading zone and he had just started to say something when Lynne’s voice came over the coms. “Got it 007. We’ll make sure no one touches the car.” Bond grunted in acknowledgement and headed for the Hospital proper.

He entered through the A&E and found his way down to the basement level. He trusted that Moneypenny had either determined the perimeter clear or had made it so. The signs pointing to the morgue were clear. James assumed that the morgue overflow would not be so well marked. He walked past the lifts then turned a corner. Radiology was next on the left side of the corridor. He glanced into the waiting area as he passed by; it was empty.

Lynne’s voice came through on the coms again. “The morgue overflow is past radiology, third door on the right as you head south,” she said helpfully. “There’s a small intake room with a set of double doors into an autopsy and storage area.”

Bond gave another acknowledging grunt.

The door was labeled _Morgue_ in ornate letters. Clearly this had been the original location before the coroner had required additional space. The electronic card slide lock easily gave way to the Q-Branch electronics and he was in. The intake room was empty but it was clear from the light bleeding through the autopsy area windows that the second room was not. In fact, he could hear a baritone voice raised in a tone of complaint. Drawing his gun, Bond quietly moved to the doorway to listen.

“Overly dramatic coats are replaceable,” a reasonable sounding tenor voice said, “Overly dramatic consulting detectives are not.”

“But…” a baritone voice started and was cut off.

“No Sherlock. If it keeps him calm to chew on your coat then we’ll let him chew on your coat!”

“But…” the baritone, Sherlock, tried again.

“No. I’m not going to upset the injured werewolf before his Alpha or someone who can control him gets here. If the coat makes him happy then we let him have your bloody coat.”

James couldn’t have written a better entrance line if he had tried so he holstered his pistol and walked in.

He was greeted by an interesting scene. From overhearing the name, he had expected the tall, lanky consulting detective. What he hadn’t expected was to recognize the man’s companion. The short, blond man was standing next to an autopsy table which held Q in wolf form, half wrapped in a dark wool coat. The Doctor was the same one who had picked the shrapnel out of Alec in Afghanistan. James had never found the man’s name. In fact, he’d only seen him long enough to pull rank and shove the discharge/transfer papers at him. He and Alec had quickly dropped off the grid to complete their mission. It was a testament to the doctor’s skills that despite everything Alec had ended up doing physically no stitches had been torn by the time they were done. It had been as if the doctor had somehow realized that his patient was going to need to be mobile and active.

On the other hand the Doctor seemed to know exactly who he was because he looked up and snapped “Are you coming to steal another one of my patients Commander Bond?”

“Actually I’ve come to help you out.” Bond replied.

Q, upon hearing James’ voice raised his head and attempted to locate him only to drop it back to the table with a choked off whimper. James moved quickly to soothe him. “Easy Q. Don’t move.” He looked at the blond doctor, “I didn’t realize you were in London. I’d pegged you as career RAMC.”

“Got shot,” the blond said shortly. “I’m John Watson. You his Alpha?”

“Yes.”

“The Russian wasn’t a wolf.” It wasn’t a question.

“No. A colleague.”

John raised an eyebrow at that but he glanced down at his patient and frowned. “He was hit by a ricochet. It’s still in there. Judging by his reaction it’s at least partly silver.”

“So what do you want to do?”

“Hold him still so I can get it out of him to start. Then can you force him to shift? Normally I’d recommend leaving him in wolf form as I cleaned out necrotic tissue caused by the silver but with all this fur I won’t be able to see what I’m doing.”

Q whimpered a bit.

Watson’s full attention went back to Q. James realized then that John was rhythmically moving his fingers through Q’s fur giving him something to focus on beside the pain. Surprisingly it seemed to be working and even more so Q was tolerating it.

John looked up at Sherlock. “Gloves, an implement pack and saline,” he ordered then looked at James. “However you want to do this but I suggest leaving the coat. It seems to keep him calm.”

“Check.” James responded and moved over to stand near Q’s head and stroke his fur. He positioned himself so that he could grab and hold Q down physically if he needed to.

Watson in the meantime had moved to one of the morgue sinks and was scrubbing up. He caught James looking.

“Less energy getting rid of infection means more energy for healing. The principle holds true regardless of who you are working on.”

It was becoming very clear to James that John Watson was not only a very good doctor but also highly experienced in werewolf medicine.

Sherlock had been assembling supplies on a mobile table. Once finished he stood back and turned his attention to James. He gave him a quick up and down glance then remarked “Scottish origin but educated partly in southern Germany or Switzerland, expert hand to hand fighter primarily judo and boxing but several other disciplines as well, Eton and then the Navy, injured shoulder, highly attuned to social nuances and personal interactions, lovers are abundant but people who get close tend to end up dead so you don’t get attached very often…”

“Sherlock!” Watson’s tone had enough authority in it to stop most people and even some werewolves dead in their tracks. Sherlock didn’t stop talking, he merely shifted from exposition mode to a more reflective tone.

“You move well, have a discrete communications unit and are armed with a Walther PPK/S,” he mused. “I didn’t think MI6 employed werewolves.”

James ignored him in favor of watching Watson prepare. He could feel Q shaking slightly under his caresses obviously in pain. James decided to try something he’d seen an alpha do only once, he concentrated and tried to use the pack connection to take on some of Q’s pain. It was strange. He could feel that Q was hurting but he couldn’t seem to connect enough to help. Something was actively preventing it and it suddenly dawned on him what it was.

“Q,” he growled. “Stop trying to protect me. I’m more used to this than you are!”

Watson snorted, “Should I give you two a moment?”

Q whined but James felt his assent. He moved to embrace Q through the coat and whispered in his ear, “Be still and let me help.” The barrier was suddenly gone and James could finally take on at least some of the pain. “Go,” he said to Dr. Watson.

The next few minutes were not very comfortable. Even shared the pain was intense due to the nature of the bullet. Luckily it was sooner rather than later when James heard the distinctive clink of metal as it hit the tray. Dr. Watson clearly knew exactly what he was doing.

“You were lucky Q,” Watson said. “The bullet was a silver jacket and didn’t break apart when it hit you.”

James released his hold. “How fast do you want him bipedal?” he asked.

“As quickly if possible. Given how long it was in him it will be a lot more comfortable in the long run if I clean out any dead tissue before it starts to heal.”

James winced. He’d festered out dead tissue after having been stabbed with a silver fork. It had taken over a month and he’d been sick the entire time. Unfortunately, due to the fact that Q was less than a year as a werewolf forcing a change before moonset even with James’ assistance was not going to be a sure thing.

Of course Sherlock noticed his hesitancy “Problem?” he asked.

“He’s got less than a year of shifting. I might not be able to get him human before moonset.” James admitted.

Watson thought for a moment presumably running something over in his head, “Try. If it doesn’t work we can relocate somewhere else and try again in a few hours.”

James nodded. “First things first,” he said to the room in general “Let’s get rid of this coat shall we?”

“Good luck with that,” James heard Sherlock mutter under his breath.

He started untangling Q from the coat. He’d managed to get it mostly off before Q realized what was happening. Q growled, whimpered then took a mouthful of coat and refused to let go. James decided to leave it. As it was the coat was only being saved from falling to the floor by Q’s grip on it.

James moved around so that he could hold Q’s head and look into his eyes. “Q, I want you to concentrate on trying to change back. It’s going to be hard. Let me help you.”

Q whined then closed his eyes. James could feel Q start to try and revert to human form. Although he’d never done this before James took his own memories of shifting back to human and for lack of a better term pushed. The shift wasn’t smooth or steady but it did occur and about ten minutes later a naked and exhausted Q lay on his side shivering on the autopsy table.

At some point in the process, James hadn’t noticed exactly, Q had let go of his death grip on the coat. Sherlock had apparently rescued it from the floor and when he realized Q’s predicament approached cautiously clearly with the intent of tucking it around the exhausted man. That was when he caught sight of Q’s face. James heard a sharp intake of breath followed by a flurry of movement as Sherlock carefully wrapped his coat around Q.

Sherlock stepped back and calmly remarked, “You owe me a coat Taliesin.”

Q half opened an eye and muttered “Pond scum and circuit boards.”

“That was just once!” Sherlock objected. “You’ve been ruining my wardrobe since you were six!”

“Nice to see you too Sherlock.” Q said faintly.

“What do you need Tal?” Sherlock asked immediately

Q held out his hand. Sherlock moved then, hopping up onto the autopsy table and gathering the coat wrapped form into his arms.

James looked at Watson for an explanation only to find that John was doing the same back at him.

“There’s three of them?” John finally whispered appearing stunned.

Three? James was still confused. You could tell by looking at the two together that Q and Sherlock were related but...James made the connection. Sherlock Holmes; Mycroft Holmes; that meant Q was Taliesin Holmes. Oh, Wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed the line about overly dramatic coats/detectives from [And A Doctor](http://archiveofourown.org/works/497900) by stillwaters01. It was just too good a fit not to use in the context. If you haven't found that one on your own already please go and give it a read.


	22. 10 + 10 = 100 (Adding it All Together)

Taliesin Holmes, more often these days known as Q, woke up in a position that he’d not been in for a very long time. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that he was safe in Sherlock’s embrace. A small contented sigh escaped him as he nuzzled closer earning him a quiet chuckle for his pains. There was a bit of a shift and then a hand cupped around the back of his head; clever fingers kneading the back of his neck. Q relaxed into the massage and started taking a mental assessment of the last few hours.

His crashing through the window into the drug lab was quite clear. The fact that another werewolf had come in behind him had been a surprise but between Sherlock’s impromptu stink bomb and John’s shooting they’d made it out unscathed. Getting hit by the ricochet had felt like someone had stuck him with a red hot fireplace poker. At first Q had thought it a regular bullet until he started having problems using his leg along with chills and nausea. It was a very good thing that Dr. Watson was familiar with werewolf physiology and had realized what had happened. His memories from that point were sketchy at best. There had been a car, some sort of cart and a good smelling blanket which he now realized had been Sherlock’s coat. He’d drifted in and out on waves of pain until somehow he’d sensed that James was close, most likely in the building, and drawing closer.

From that point on things had become stranger. He felt James’ concern and registered that James was talking to John Watson but he couldn’t seem to focus on understanding the words. James’ instructions had come through clearly however. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been blocking what he had been feeling from radiating down the pack link until James had ordered him to stop. The bit when James had actively taken on part of the pain he was feeling had been strange but much appreciated. Q didn’t remember much about the subsequent shift. James had helped with that too. Now that he was copasetic he realized why wolves tended not to shift back while the moon was still up. It was difficult, painful and exhausting. The subsequent cleaning of the wound on his thigh had finished the job and he’d fallen asleep as soon as the pain had backed off to a tolerable level. He didn’t have any memories after that.

Judging by the smells, sounds and bedding he was back at MI6. It was most likely one of the secure rooms in Medical especially if they’d come in openly. Given the fact that Sherlock was here they’d most likely had to use Q’s injury as an excuse to get him into the building without questions. Of course that meant that most everyone in the building would have heard about it in under a half hour. The biggest drawback in working in a building full of spies was the speed of the gossip. He’d need to check the camera feeds to see what exactly had happened and whether he needed to do any damage control.

As if the mere thought of work had conjured him, the door to the room opened and a familiar voice said “Damnit Q! You are not a field agent. You should know better than to run into a known drug den under sniper fire!” Alec’s voice came to an abrupt stop as he registered that Q was not alone in the room, or the bed, as he had assumed.

Before he could start up again Sherlock said, “Cossack mother, British father. Mother’s family fled to Britain during World War II, survived the repatriation in 1945 and settled somewhere near Minsk. Your family moved to Moscow when you were four but by the time you were five or six your father was posted elsewhere on the continent. Your parents were assassinated, probably by the KGB, when you were ten and you ended up at a boarding school in the midlands. Enlisted in the navy as soon as you were of age, landed in the SBS then were recruited into MI6.”

Q had to chuckle to himself. Sherlock’s deductions were a slightly longer version of something he himself had done to 006 the first time he’d met him. A couple of those tidbits were in only in the hard copy _eyes only_ file. Alec had assumed Q had somehow nicked a look at the file until he’d checked the logs for the storage area. After that 006 had never again impugned Q’s intelligence gathering abilities.

Unfortunately Q hadn’t counted on Alec’s reaction to the same classified information coming from what appeared to be a civilian who was holding onto his quartermaster. Alec dropped into Russian and unleashed a verbal tirade that was mostly swears and contained at least one death threat directed at Sherlock.

Q fully opened his eyes and prepared to confront his overly concerned 00 agent when Watson’s voice echoed cheerfully from the doorway, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you because agent or not I’d have to shoot you.”

Alec spun on his feet to look at the new intruder. If he’d been armed Q could see he’d have pulled a weapon. As it was Alec was balanced in a fighting stance ready for action. Christ he was wired. Q gathered his strength and prepared to act to defuse the situation. Surprisingly John Watson beat him to it.

John was standing hands open, clear of his sides and continued speaking despite the fact that he was looking at an agent on a hair trigger, “Of course, I’d probably get stuck with stitching you up afterword knowing my luck!”

Alec relaxed fractionally. “Not like you haven’t before you sadistic bastard,” he replied in a tone that Q recognized as what passed for teasing among the agent types.

John seemed to recognize the teasing. “If I recall the circumstances correctly you were the one who insisted that I not use the morphine.”

Q wondered briefly exactly how bad Alec’s injuries had been when Watson had treated him in Afghanistan.

“I didn’t know you spoke Russian John,” Sherlock interrupted as he released Q from his arms and helped him sit up.

“I don’t really but it’s amazing how an occupation will import things into a culture, especially curses and death threats.”

Alec huffed under his breath at that exchange then met Q’s eyes. He shifted his glance fractionally between John and Sherlock, silently asking Q for a cue on how to treat them.

“Alec,” he started in “this is my brother Sherlock and his partner Dr. John Watson. They have security clearance up to B-1c last I looked.”

Alec kept his face and body language neutral but Q could almost feel his surprise.

“That’s neither here nor there, did you actually come barging in here for some reason other than to yell at me for extracting my brother from being caught in a firefight between the MET and some unknown group with a sniper and a werewolf?”

“Yes actually,” Alec replied. “Your subordinates requested and required that I determine your status. They would have asked James but he’s down in the basement sorting out his other problem. They figured I’d be a good substitute.”

“You can relay that I’m going to be alright and should be back up to speed in a few…”

“Not quite,” Dr. Watson said as he came completely into the room. “I want you completely off that leg for at least a day and then crutches and light duty for another week. Oh, and you need to eat more, especially protein.”

Alec grinned evilly at Q, “I’ll let the minions know about the limitations.”

Q winced. Given his staff’s behavior over the last six months he had no doubt that they would make sure he followed the medical instructions whether he needed to or not. “What can I bribe you with to ensure you omit the specifics on the recommendations?”

“One of those nifty explosive pens you gave James might do the trick.”

“Exploding pens? We haven’t made those in…Oh shit, he doesn’t still have it does he? The bloody things are most likely unstable given how old they are. Who the heck gave it to him and where…damn! It was on the test bench in the lab.” Q managed to swing his legs off the bed. “Get the fuck out of my way!” This was addressed to Sherlock who had moved to block his escape.

“Woah.” Alec interjected, “James turned in all his equipment before he headed down stairs. If it’s that unstable then I’ll go tell them to put it in a containment box.” He turned to leave the room but paused, “I wouldn’t count on being able to avoid your minions enforcing the good doctor’s orders even if I don’t tell them. When I left the branch someone was talking about key stroke loggers and medical in the same sentence.”

“Crap.” Q groaned as Alec left, closing his eyes and flopping against the bed. That gave Sherlock the opportunity to gently place his legs back in the bed and tuck the covers in.

“You are not going anywhere little brother,” he said. “If you try I can always go home and retrieve those Victorian era handcuffs that you could never quite get the hang of picking.”

There was a chuckle from the vicinity of the door and Q opened his eyes again. In what appeared to be a conservation of 00s in his room James Bond was leaning against the door jam. Of course he was his usual debonair self, not a hair out of place or a wrinkle to be seen.

“R said you probably would want this once you woke up.” He strolled into the room and Q could and waived a rather familiar looking tablet.

Q grabbed the bed control with one hand and made grabby motions with the other as he maneuvered the bed into a more upright position. With a few keystrokes he started working his way into the building’s surveillance system. “So are you going to yell at me too or does M have that privilege?” Q asked.

“M and I agreed that I take precedence on that one,” James informed him gravely. “Although he does want a full debrief from both of us as soon as you are somewhat coherent.”

“Wonderful,” Q muttered half to himself.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a nonverbal exchange between his brother and Watson. It had been a slight head movement on John’s part followed by a shoulder twitch by Sherlock. The implications of that simple exchange almost had him loose track of what he’d been doing. Luckily Q had quite a bit of multitasking experience from running agents. Another few strokes and he had shut off all the monitoring systems other than the medical ones in the room.

“The room is secure,” Q announced.

James glanced at Sherlock and John.

Sherlock responded to the unspoken question, “An exchange of information would appear to be advisable as our case appears to have intersected with matters of national security.” He sat down in the room’s only chair and steepled his hands in front of his face.

“How did you deduce…” John started in.

“Obvious,” Q interrupted him. It wouldn’t do to have Sherlock go off on one of his deductive rants and potentially disclose embarrassing bits of shared history. “I wouldn’t have completely shut off the surveillance if it had just been security and I would have requested privacy if it hadn’t involved you two.”

“Not a bad summary,” Sherlock murmured softly.

Q glanced at his brother. It was clear from his demeanor that Q wouldn’t get anything out of him until information was provided. Q took a breath and began.

“Over the last few months we’ve been tracking and dismantling a smuggling syndicate based out of Mumbai. They moved most anything contraband: arms, drugs, people. In the process we discovered that they were also involved in money laundering and had connections to another of our active operations involving the disappearance of enriched uranium in quantity and quality suitable for use in a dirty bomb.”

“Jim’s protégés?” Sherlock asked.

John winced, whether it was about the dirty bomb or Sherlock’s reference to the late un-lamented Jim Moriarty Q couldn’t tell.

“No indication of that. You were quite effective in removing a good portion of Moriarty’s subordinates.” Q noticed James’ eyebrows rise at that little tidbit of information and he remembered that James had been involved in an operation against the half-fae psychopath and his criminal cronies. He also didn’t miss the assessing glance James sent at Sherlock.

Q continued, “This appears to be a consolidation of various small operations and left over Quantum associates. Someone has gathered them into a loosely tied organization structured as cells with minimal contact between them at the bottom. Everything reports up the line to a member of the inner circle which then reports to whoever is the principal.”

Sherlock cocked his head in a manner that Q interpreted as get on with it.

“The name Magnus has come up several times. He’s either a member of the inner circle or the principle and is most likely Fae.”

“And?”

“There are indications some sort of power play going down here in London involving either stolen gems or stolen magic.”

“What type of indications?” Sherlock asked.

“A mostly unintelligible recording on a cell phone with the words _Magnus, Fae, power, London, control, gems, stolen,_ and _magic_ ,” Q replied.

Sherlock’s eyebrows went up at that. “Unintelligible even for you?”

“Magical EMP effect, older style Fae protections tend to do that. Unfortunately the person who made the recording and could give us more has retrograde amnesia.”

“The memories are coming back piecemeal,” James commented. “It’s not much but he remembered that Magnus is the boss. The only other thing he has recalled so far is that none of the inner circle knows what the person they report to really looks like. It could be the principal himself or some intermediary. We can’t follow up on either of those _tidbits_ yet since our source,” James was being careful not to name names, “has no idea how exactly he obtained that information.”

“Magnus,” mused John. “That was the name that water Fae who orchestrated Sherlock’s kidnapping used.”

“And that same water Fae was present outside the drug den earlier. I got a good whiff of him,” Q looked at James, “Which was why I took off from Alec and crashed through the window.”

“Humph” was James’ response and Q understood that regardless of his reasoning he and James would be having a discussion about abandoning Alec sometime later.

Sherlock in the meantime had his eyes closed and was pursing his lips rhythmically which he only did when he was attempting to put things together. Q knew his brother well. When he got like this it could take hours for him to either come to a dead end or have a finished deduction. Q was prepared to wait.

John apparently was not. “O.K. Sherlock,” John tone was matter of fact, “We don’t have time for you to sequester yourself in your mind palace. You have three other brains in the room, even if two of us are goldfish. Start talking.”

Q was quite surprised when Sherlock didn’t make any derogatory comments but merely complied.

“There’s a power shuffle going on in the ranks of the Fae,” Sherlock started in. “It’s big enough that even my brother’s high-level contacts won’t tell him more than that. My lower level informants have been specifically instructed not to talk. Together this means that the Grey Lords are directly involved. Now why would the Grey Lords be involved in a power shuffle?” Sherlock paused for effect then answered his own question, “Because someone is attempting to enter their elite ranks.

So what does a Fae need to be a Grey Lord? Primarily power and influence. As far as power is concerned for the Fae, it is either innate or enhanced by magical possessions. There is a highly magical artifact, a cup, lost since the late middle-ages that may have resurfaced. It was originally encrusted with gemstones but over time the gems were removed, sold and eventually incorporated into other pieces of jewelry. As John reminded me the other day magic can cause contamination into other items. The cup was highly magical and imparted that to the gems if they were not powerful in their own right. Someone is collecting the gems with the intent of restoring the cup to its original most powerful configuration. None of the stolen jewelry or subsidiary gems have shown up on the black market yet. Why? Once again it’s a magical contamination problem. The gems from the cup have been in the other items for several hundred years. Presumably the persons collecting the items can’t tell which gems are the correct ones without the cup in hand.

Influence is a bit trickier. To a certain degree it can be bought. The illicit operations you referenced would be helpful in that manner. However, to maintain a stable base there needs to be a commonality of interest. Powerful Fae are notoriously individualistic so convincing them to share power let you into their most exclusive ranks is going to be an uphill battle unless you have some way of influencing them. A drug that affected Fae could be a shortcut. So how do you get such a drug? It would have to be new otherwise the existing lords would know about it and guard against it. Who would be willing to put in the work to develop it without tipping off the Fae? There are some anti-fae groups fanatical enough to do so. Such groups would serve as a wonderful scape goat if the plan is discovered early. It would be relatively simple. Feed them strategic knowledge, let them do the research and steal their product.”

John’s resulting grin, Q noted, caused Sherlock to flush slightly. Yes, Q thought to himself, there was very definitely something there.

“According to Liam’s notes…”

“So Liam was actually the chemist,” John interrupted.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Obviously.”

“About the notes?” Q decided to see if he could get his brother back on track before he stopped in a huff.

“They were working at modifying known substances. The notes indicated that there had been some success in affecting multiple types of Fae but that the results had been inconsistent. It’s interesting that most the concoctions were quite potent in human subjects. One of the early versions was the GHB that they used to drug me.”

“If the research wasn’t done then why raid the drug lab?” John wondered.

“Operational security,” Q responded before Sherlock could.

“We were getting too close” Sherlock agreed. “They attempted to stop us tracking the Fae involved in the Peterson murder by strategically positioning Mr. Grant and his fellows. I suspect the death of the fence I was attempting to contact the night I was drugged had been hastened slightly. Since I wasn’t able to look at either his residence or the body I can’t make a definitive determination. After the drugging failed they eliminated my attackers who were in custody. It wasn’t to keep me from deducing who they were and where they’d been. I could do that from the bodies. No it was to keep me from questioning them and determining the nature and extent of any compulsion they were under. My third attacker was the contact with the drug research operation and thus was still useful, sparing his life. He was ultimately labeled traitor and killed when they discovered he was playing both sides of the fence, acting as an agent for both _Brighter Futures_ and our Fae power player. Best thing they could do was use the resources at hand to grab the research, any finished product, and run.”

James growled, “There aren’t many good options when you discover a mole.” It was clear from his tone he wasn’t only referring to the current situation.

“The water Fae is our connecting link. His tone and phrasing of the remark about Magnus indicated a subordinate/boss relationship.”

“You were awake for that?” John asked Sherlock.

“I do have some modicum of acting ability,” was the immediate reply.

John looked a little sour at that. Ah, Sherlock’s past drug use had given him some ability to function even doped to the gills on GHB and this confirmed it. It was clear that John was now wondering exactly how much of Sherlock’s behavior regarding the GHB was faked and how much was real. Not good, but also not his business Q thought. They’d need to work that out themselves.

“All of which leads to a hypothesis,” Sherlock continued. “This Magnus is clearly attempting to become a new lord of the Fae”

“I’d bet that’s only part of it,” James said in a reflective tone.

Sherlock’s pleased expression went flat. Q winced internally. Sherlock could be quite abrasive when he was challenged on a deduction. Q decided to intervene.

“Why?” he asked the agent.

“In my experience you don’t set up the type of organization Magnus has solely for the funding. It’s too much work for the profit involved especially when the end goal is a political power play in what is in effect an ethnic minority.” James paused for a moment then continued, “Why does this Magnus want to be a Grey Lord? What’s his end game and how does selling the components for a dirty bomb play into it? There’s something more here.”

“Hmph,” was Sherlock’s only reply.

Well at least he was considering it, Q mused. So what was the bigger picture here? Q mentally went over everything about the arms deal, the Crimson Lotus and anywhere Magnus’ name had appeared. Suddenly things all seemed to slot together… _London, power, control_...oh shit. He must have made a noise because suddenly everyone in the room was looking at him with varying degrees of concern.

Q looked directly at Sherlock. “We need Mycroft now. The bastard wants to take over London!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus internet points to anyone who can identify the literary shout-out in this chapter.


	23. Revelations and Repercussions

It was less than two minutes after Taliesin’s pronouncement that John found himself standing in the hall of MI6 medical with Sherlock at his side wondering what next. They had been politely, but in no uncertain terms, tossed out of Taliesin’s room by the beautiful PA to the head of MI6. John idly mused about the tendency of powerful people in the intelligence community to have drop dead gorgeous and deadly assistants. Mycroft had his not-Anthea and this M bloke had Moneypenny.

He didn’t have long to reflect because an irate female voice hailed him from down the hall. He turned to see Dr. Erika Nielson was barreling down the hallway followed by a tall, thin, salt and pepper haired female carrying a tablet. Out of the corner of his eye John noticed Sherlock pocket his mobile and turn to help him face the oncoming juggernaut; 45 kg of clearly irate Doctor.

“What the hell John?” She sputtered as she came to a stop in front of him. “Q is talking about moving out of medical and down into the branch!”

“When did that happen?” John was shocked.

“I suspect about thirty seconds after he realized we needed my brother,” Sherlock remarked dryly.

John looked over at Sherlock who at that moment was assessing Dr. Nielson’s companion. Unlike most people she didn’t appear to be uncomfortable with his gaze and seemed to be performing an assessment of her own right back at him.

“Hmm…technologically adept,” Sherlock started in, “but more comfortable with the design and production end of things. You are an expert chemist, PhD most likely, specializing in ammunition and explosives. Unfortunately you don’t get as much lab time as you would like due to a heavy administrative workload. Luckily most of it is computerized and some is delegable otherwise you would get no lab time at all. Happily married with two grown children. Currently you are acting as surrogate parent to a variety socially inept young technological types including the child-in-chief who managed to get himself shot last night. Therefore, you must be Q’s second in command and have come to see if you can extract your boss out of the clutches of the good Doctors.”

“Given the series of deductions and the hair you must be Sherlock Holmes,” the lady in question grinned at him. “I’m Mattie, otherwise known around here as R. You did get one thing wrong though.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “Oh?”

“I’ve actually come to collaborate on how to keep Q in medical if possible and if not how to set things up to ensure,” she looked at John and Erika “that he won’t do himself any injury when he starts to work.”

“It’s always something,” John heard Sherlock mutter under his breath.

Dr. Nielson looked surprised then asked “So what do you estimate our chances are for keeping him?”

“Slim to none I’m afraid,” R replied. “He told me to set up for Level A operations.”

John wasn’t quite sure what that meant but the look on Erika Nielson’s face told him that they were going to have their hands full keeping Taliesin, no he’d have to start thinking of him as Q now, from further injuring himself.

R continued as if she hadn’t noticed Erika’s grimace and turned to Sherlock, “I assume since no one has come to escort you out and the mention of a brother that there’s going to be some sort of taskforce involved. You have any idea about the extent of the operation and the number of people who will be located here?”

“Five minimum,” Sherlock answered shortly.

John counted in his head: Mycroft, not-Anthea, Taliesen, Sherlock and himself. “You’ll want to add Commander Bond,” John interjected. Sherlock hadn’t factored in an Alpha werewolf’s protective instincts. James clearly wouldn’t want to let Taliesin, Q, out of his sight while he was injured.

R was poking at her tablet with the back end of what looked like a heavily modified biro and talking half to herself, “M and Moneypenny will be in and out so that makes Eight, plus maybe a liaison or two from other agencies if it becomes necessary. Looks like I’ll need to have them set up the War Room.” A couple more taps and she looked up again, “So what do we need to keep Q from making himself worse?”

John looked at Erika since she was technically the treating physician.

Erika waived her hand at him, “Your assessment is better than mine John. I barely saw him and you treated the original wound.”

John thought for a moment, “I wouldn’t want him to put any weight on that leg for at least 24 hours. 48 would be better. He can sit upright for a half-hour to 45 minutes or so at a whack but he needs to keep the leg elevated for at an hour or two between sessions. A decent amount of sleep, lots of fluids and a diet seriously high in protein.”

R was back to taping at her tablet, “How about one of those zero-gravity reclining chairs? We’ve got several of those sitting around in the branch. Kicked back it will keep the leg elevated and he can sleep in it if necessary.” Her face took on a speculative look for a moment then she continued, “The War Room has a small alcove area. We can set it up with a couple of cots to kip on. That’s been done before. Need to have a set of auxiliary monitors with adjustable brackets, wireless keyboard, head set….” She trailed off for a moment then added, “I’ll assign a minion to be hands and feet and reactivate the feeding schedule. I can’t do anything about getting him to rest, that will need to be your job. Think that will do?”

John was impressed. Apparently Q branch was well versed in dealing with the working habits of its Holmes. He nodded his assent then added “I think we’ll be able to handle the rest part one way or another.”

R looked a bit dubious at his statement. She then glanced at her tablet and frowned, “Can you give me a half-hour or so to get this all set up? That way we can take him straight to the War Room. I’m afraid if he gets into his office or coms we won’t be able to pry him out with a crowbar.”

“We’ll stall him,” John promised her looking pointedly at Sherlock.

“Good.” R turned to head off then stopped looking at Erika. “You want to come with and see if the idea I had about a chair is suitable?”

Erika looked at John and Sherlock. “There’s a conference room just off the lift lobby and a lounge three doors down the hall. You are welcome to use either. I don’t suppose I need to tell you not to wander about unescorted.”

R snorted, “As if they’d get very far with the badges they have. We’re running security a bit higher than normal right now and that doesn’t even count the fact we have most of the 00’s in the building.”

“Right,” said John acknowledging the implied warning as the ladies took off at a brisk walk.

Once they were out of earshot John asked, “No comments on security?”

“Nope” Sherlock popped the terminal p.

John had a sinking feeling, “You didn’t?”

Sherlock simply smiled his _I’m completely innocent_ smile and pulled a badge out of his pocket. “Someone left this lying on the nursing station. You can have the best technology in existence but it can always be foiled by the human factor.”

“One of these days your tendency to lift ID’s is going to come back and bite you.”

Sherlock shrugged.

John gave up on that issue and tried another. “Any idea on how we are going to keep your brother and his Alpha from escaping for an hour or so?”

“Rational arguments usually work,” Sherlock replied then added “but I think we’ll have absolutely no problem.”

His eyes had focused over John’s shoulder as he spoke so John turned around. Mycroft Holmes trailed by his PA and holding his ever present umbrella was walking down the hall. As he stopped in front of them the door to Q’s room opened and Ms. Moneypenny stepped into the hall.

“Director!” she said, clearly startled.

Her outburst alerted M who stepped through the door behind her. “Holmes,” he acknowledged.

“Mallory,” was the reply.

“I didn’t expect you quite this soon.”

“I had been reminded of a familial obligation and was in route when I received your notification.” Mycroft cast a pointed glance in Sherlock’s direction.

Sherlock for his part, John noticed, had retrieved his mobile and seemed to be engrossed in reading a text.

“We are not quite set up for active operations yet,” M stated “but I suspect you may wish to deal with other issues while that occurs.”

Mycroft inclined his head in acknowledgement as M started off down the corridor followed by Moneypenny. John was positioned just perfectly to watch as Moneypenny passed Mycroft’s PA. They nodded at each other in greeting and John faintly heard Lisa from one and Eve from the other as they practically brushed shoulders.

Mycroft, in the meantime was standing with his hand on Q’s door. He turned slightly before entering and asked “Brother?”

Sherlock grunted and put his mobile back in his pocket following Mycroft as he entered the room.

John decided to join the parade. He figured that if the _Brothers Homes_ didn’t want his presence they could damn well tell him so directly. What he saw when he cleared the doorway was interesting to say the least.

Mycroft had made it to the side of Q’s bed where Q and Commander Bond had been looking at something on Q’s tablet. From the set of Mycroft’s shoulders and his grip on the umbrella it was clear that he was surprised and very angry.

Both Bond and Q were looking at him when Q suddenly said, “No My.”

“Who?” Mycroft’s soft question had an unpleasant edge to it.

“No one I’ve met,’ Bond replied and John realized that Mycroft had been ignorant of Q’s werewolf status up until he’d entered the room. It was clear he wasn’t happy about it and had suspected Bond of being complicit in the change.

The tip of Mycroft’s umbrella returned to the floor. His shoulders belied the reduction in tension. “If possible I would appreciate information if you acquire same.” He said flatly. It was a direct but unspoken order.

“I’ll take your interest under advisement,” Bond half growled back clearly not liking the implication.

Sherlock had moved to the end of the bed and was looking at both his brothers, intentionally ignoring Bond’s less than polite reply. “That was good Tal, three points,” he remarked in an apparent non sequitur.

Q looked affronted. “It was at least eight! You didn’t see his face.”

“I’ll give you five. That makes us even.” Sherlock replied.

Mycroft glared at both of them.

John looked at Bond who, while keeping a decent poker face, cocked his head as a question. John had to shrug in reply. It made a strange sort of sense. Only the Holmes’ would keep track of sibling one-upmanship with an official points system.

John glanced back at Mycroft. Despite the look of disgust on his face the sibling banter had the effect of cutting the remaining tension. Mycroft focused most of his attention again on Q. Out of the corner of his eye John saw Sherlock crack a slight smile. Yep, he thought to himself, Sherlock had intended just that result. John shifted his stance and smiled slightly at Sherlock hoping he’d read the approval on his face. Sherlock’s smile, the real one not his _it’s socially correct to smile in this situation_ one, made another brief appearance in return. Message received.

Q started in, repeating in more detail for Mycroft the series of deductions that had lead him to his conclusion. It was rather interesting to observe the resulting conversation, if you could call it that, between the three brothers. Q seemed to talk in some blend of intelligence shorthand and Holmes specific code. Sherlock would occasionally interject a word or two and Mycroft just stood there absorbing it all. John noticed small mannerisms from each of the three; a twitch here, a fractionally raised eyebrow there, an exhale that was slightly too long. It was clear at least to him that there was a lot more communication going on in the room than what was being said aloud.

John noted that Bond had picked up on the existence of the unspoken content too. It wasn’t terribly surprising if what he suspected was indeed true. Commander Bond, John thought, was most likely one of MI6’s premier assassins; one of the nine legendary 00’s with an unlimited license to kill. Given his werewolf nature he was probably the most senior of the group. Odds were that John’s former patient Alec was another one of that elite group.

As if thinking of him conjured him into existence Alec opened the door. He didn’t enter since the room was already crowded. He merely looked in and said, “War room’s ready Q.”

That effectively derailed the three-way conversation as Q switched focus and asked, “I don’t suppose anyone thought about clothes? Waltzing through the branch with my arse hanging out will do wonders for my authority!”

Alec wordlessly handed John, who happened to be closest, a pile of clothes. It contained what looked like a set of scrubs, a patterned jumper and a pair of bright yellow animated feature themed slippers. John placed the pile on the end of the bed. Mycroft looked affronted at the ensemble. Sherlock looked confused. Q appeared to be amused.

Bond chuckled at both the clothes and the reactions. “It’s not much worse than what you normally wear!”

“Just because you are a relic and can’t understand style that doesn’t originate on Savile Row doesn’t mean you can malign my usual clothing choices!” Q grumbled at him.

Mycroft took a breath, probably to add a comment, and John decided he’d better intervene. “O.K.” he said briskly using his best Captain Watson voice. “Everyone out. I want to take a look at that leg before we move you.” Surprisingly everyone in the room, including Bond, obeyed and filed out.

Q smiled at him as the door closed behind the last of them, “Thanks.”

“I wasn’t kidding. I want to see whether sitting up has aggravated it. Silver shot in your situation needs to be watched closely, it goes necrotic if you are not careful.” John commented while washing his hands.

Ten minutes later John had Q dressed and sitting on the side of the bed complete with slippers. The wound was slowly healing and John didn’t want Q putting any weight at all on the leg. “Stay put,” he ordered. “I’ll go and see if we can get you a wheel chair.”

James Bond opened the door to the room at that and said “No need. I’ll carry him down.”

Q gave him a sour look, “I’m not one of your damsels in distress!”

“Wouldn’t mistake you for one.” Bond replied as he moved to the bed. “This way we can take the stairs and walk through the bullpen to let your minions see that you are really in one piece.”

John watched Q consider.

“I suppose…” Q replied then squawked in surprise as Bond scooped him off the bed.

John grabbed Q’s tablet, the rucksack and trailed along after. Surprisingly there was no one in the hall.

Bond noticed. “They relocated to check out the setup” he commented.

That left John nothing much to do but to follow as Bond took off. They went down several flights of stairs, traversed a series of hallways then down some more. The place was a veritable rabbit warren if burrows had been equipped with high tech security and code locked access doors. As near as John could determine they were several stories underground when they came to a door into the stairwell with a distinctly different lock setup. Q reached over and placed a finger on the keypad. There was a distinct clunk and Bond backed up motioning John to open the door.

Once through found them in another corridor. This one however seemed to be a combination of World War II vintage brick and high tech lab aesthetic as evidenced by the glass doors mounted in an archway on one wall. As they approached the doors Q barked out a command and nothing happened. Bond came to a stop in front of the doors.

Q sighed and pinched his nose under his glasses. “Open Sesame.”

“Really?” said Bond as the doors slid open.

John looked around curiously. It was a large room with multiple desks each with a variety of computers and consoles. A glassed in area bristling with screens took up one end of the room. There was a standing workstation on a raised dais at the other end of the room that overlooked everything. Close to the dais was a set of stairs leading to a glassed in office.

As soon as they had cleared the door Q snapped out, “I hope you lot realized that the door access codes reverted to default!”

From his tone John surmised that if they hadn’t heads would roll.

“Already on it boss!” came a yell back from a young man with way too many piercings. “We’ve got a bug that causes a reset when we switch to certain security levels.”

“Manually reset it. We’ll fix it later. Institute A level in stable mode.” Q ordered. “I’ll be in the War Room.”

People scattered with a chorus of yes sirs among other acknowledgements. The last thing John heard as he trailed after Bond and Q was _Oh my god…he’s wearing the minion slippers!_ followed by a quiet response, _Weren’t those supposed to be a joke?_

They went out another set of doors, down another hallway and through a vestibule that to John looked suspiciously like an air lock. It seemed that their destination had once been a bunker of some sort but now was a suite of rooms serving as a command center and planning area. The reason John knew it was their destination rather than just another short cut was the simple fact that Mycroft and Sherlock were standing practically nose to nose in the middle of the room glaring at each other. Neither of them glanced in the direction of Bond, Q and John.

Q sighed audibly. “Stop it!” he addressed the two men. “We don’t have the time and I don’t have the energy to referee one of your internecine squabbles. Mycroft, Sherlock didn’t know until just a few hours before you arrived and I prevented him from notifying you.” Q continued as he was carried across the room. “Sherlock, there was nothing that Mycroft could have done to prevent this or keep me safe other than locking me up somewhere like a fairytale princess. Even though you’ve deleted the stories you will remember how well that sort of thing works with me from the last time he tried.” He paused as Bond set him down in a high tech looking reclining chair.

Both Mycroft and Sherlock looked stunned, like they’d been whapped over the head with a rolled newspaper. Being brought back to task by their little brother was not something that happened very often John surmised.

“Come,” Q held out his hands to his brothers.

Sherlock moved and grasped one while Mycroft took the other. They stood there for a moment then, as if scripted Sherlock headed for a seat at a computer console, Mycroft ensconced himself in a chair where not-Anthea handed him a tablet and Q directed a waiting tech to adjust monitors and hand him a keyboard. John actually felt the moment when the three Holmes’ all settled and focused their formidable intellects on the task at hand. He felt something else immediately after, he didn’t know quite how but despite the long night he felt energized and ready to lend his aid at a moment’s notice to whatever the three came up with. He looked around and realized that both Bond and not-Anthea had also slipped into that peculiar state of expectant waiting. Q smiled and an almost tangible wave of pleasurable unity of purpose swept over the room.

That was when John remembered another of his Grandmother’s stories. She had once, when explaining werewolf pack structure, told him about a very rare type of wolf. Like an alpha they protected the pack but they were outside the dominance hierarchy and could ignore even an alpha’s direct commands. They made the pack more harmonious and according to Granny could even affect the emotions of humans near them. From her descriptions he had thought at the time that these so called _omega wolves_ had something akin to projective empathy as described in a novel he had once read. From the evidence at hand John had to conclude that Q was quite probably one of these rare creatures. He idly wondered if anyone else in the room or even if Q himself knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...was this what you've all been waiting for? 
> 
> By the way, the literary shout out last chapter was to Rex Stout's detective Nero Wolfe (told you it was an older reference) who, when he started to figure things out, sat in his chair pursing his lips rhythmically.


	24. Three Heads are Better than One

James had thought he’d seen Q totally focused on a task. As he sat in the back of the War Room watching him work with his brothers he realized that he’d never seen Q get even close to full focus before. He supposed it was because there was always a bit of Q’s mind devoted to interfacing with the outside world. With his brothers it was clear he didn’t need that which freed him to fully concentrate on the task at hand.

The brothers had started working separately. Sherlock occasionally asking Dr. Watson for something; Mycroft doing the same with his PA Lisa; and Q asking George, who had set up the screens and system, to do a task or two. As the hours had passed Watson, Lisa and George had been rendered superfluous. James had long since slipped into what he considered his _surveillance mode_ , a relaxed state of body and mind with enough attention to allow him to come to complete readiness in an instant.

George when dismissed immediately headed out the door saying “ping if you need” to Q as he departed.

Next down was Watson who suddenly stood and stretched. He looked around the room, nodded at Bond and then headed over to the cots set up in a nook. As Watson bedded down and fell almost instantly asleep James idly wondered if the ability to take a nap when things were slow came from his time in Afghanistan, his medical training or was a self-preservation tactic for living with Sherlock Holmes.

Lisa was the last. Mycroft made a harrumphing sort of noise furrowing his brow at something he saw on one of the screens. He then made a shooing motion with a finger. Lisa obediently got up and moved out of the workspace. She pulled out her blackberry and texted something. Q must have given her signal access since most phones didn’t work without his say so this deep in his domain. Shortly thereafter Moneypenny wandered into the War Room. It was clear from their interaction, even without his werewolf hearing having picked up the exchange in the hall of medical, that they knew each other. After a short conference she and Lisa left.

The brothers were now sitting, Mycroft on one side of Q’s chair Sherlock on the other, watching a bank of monitors which were displaying documents, reports and even video feeds switching at an absolutely dizzying rate. The communication going on between the three men seemed to consist of grunts, twitches and the occasional word. Every now and again one of them would stop the progress and they’d all study something intently before continuing. Rinse and repeat.

About the 6th or 7th repetition one of the minions entered pushing a small cart. “Sweet,” Lynne said softly as she observed the scene.

After watching for a moment she skillfully handed Q a lidded mug without interrupting his navigation of the information stream. Q grimaced at the lid but since he was partially kicked back in the reclining chair at the time he acknowledged the necessity with a grunt. She then placed a small teapot and a china cup on a saucer within Mycroft’s reach. A mug of something was handed to Sherlock. He grimaced. Lynne jerked her head in the direction of the sleeping John Watson and shrugged. Sherlock rolled his eyes and took a sip. When she turned away from him James observed a slight smile flash across Sherlock’s long face as he glanced in the direction of Watson’s slumbering form.

Lynne proceeded back to the cart and placed a set of insulated containers on a handy table. Sugar, cream and a set of mugs followed thereafter. She looked over at Bond and raised an eyebrow. He nodded slightly. She made him a mug and handed it to him.

James took a sip. Coffee, just the way he liked it. Just when had Q-branch registered his coffee preference? That led to another question, “Why are you playing tea monkey Lynne?”

“I’m in trouble,” she replied amicably.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It seems I issued an unstable antique to an agent on a sensitive retrieval mission.”

“You are aware that claiming coercion will often avoid unpleasant repercussions for that sort of action.”

“Thought about it but the timing wouldn’t have worked. I had the requisition list completed before you had hit the holding cells and you never made it up to the branch.”

“The perils of being efficient,” James replied jokingly then sobered as a thought hit him. “Speaking of holding cells…”

Lynne interrupted before he could even get the question fully out. “Funny thing about that, we’ve been having intermittent camera problems in part of the cell block. It looked like we lost a number of hours of feed because of it. When the problem was investigated we discovered one of the cameras had been completely zeroed out last night. There is tech crew down there right now fixing it.”

Interesting James thought. He knew that Q branch, or at least its upper echelons, were aware of his and Q’s condition. From Lynne’s statement they knew about Toby now. It was also clear that they were willing to do quite a bit of tampering to preserve the secret. Judging from face and body language cues from Lynne, the minions had not been required to lose any data this time because James was almost certain that 004 had applied the 00 penchant for technological destruction to the hapless camera in question.

Thinking about 004 lead James to ask, “You wouldn’t happen to be able to find out if 004 is still in the building?”

“She left at about 08 hundred in the company of agent Uchaia,” was the prompt response. Lynne grinned up at him and added, “She was muttering something about doing things arse backwards and taking him home for breakfast.”

James was surprised not so much at 004’s reported behavior but at the petite minion being such a font of information. “How...,” he started in only to be interrupted again.

“One of the few perks of tea-monkey duty, you find out ALL the things.”

Looking at her grin James was reminded that despite the fact that Q-Branch was chocked full of boffins they were also spies. Ferreting out information was second nature regardless of whether it was in a database somewhere or within the walls of MI6.

“So how long are you stuck with the assignment?” He asked in an information gathering effort of his own.

“Until the next spectacular screw up or a week whichever comes first. If there are no infractions then we revert to the standard rotation.” An alarm chimed and Lynne looked at her watch, “Scuse me.”

She went over to the cart and rummaged around in a box coming up with a handful of what looked like wrapped sticks. She deftly peeled the wrapping back on one, walked over and handed it to Q who absentmindedly started to eat it. She repeated the exercise with two more of the sticks before returning to Bond.

“Feeding schedule,” she said in explanation. “Want one?” She held out a wrapped stick in his direction.

Curious James took it. It resembled the packaged meat sticks that were contained in the nutrition packs issued for long term surveillance missions where provisions were problematic. James recalled from the last time he’d eaten one that they looked like something extruded from a calking gun and tasted vaguely like cardboard. He unwrapped it cautiously and was surprised by an appetizing meat aroma. The stick itself now resembled beef jerky and when he took a bite he discovered it had dried meat texture rather than uniform paste. James stared at the stick in surprise.

Lynne chuckled, “New and improved. We had to find something to increase Q’s protein intake while he was working. There was no way in heck he’d touch the old ones. Jeff who is responsible for emergency ration packs collaborated with Christine from catering and this is one of the things they came up with.”

James finished the rest of the stick in a couple of bites. They really were quite good. Lynne handed him another one without his asking.

“Jeff and Christine are slowly working their way through all the ration packs,” She informed him. “Once they get something promising we attempt to feed it to Q. If he doesn’t eat all of it then they start over trying something different. There have only been two spectacular failures. One didn’t even make it across the bullpen before Q commented on the smell.”

“And the other?”

“Well, we lost a monitor because Q chucked it at Jeff and missed.”

James suddenly realized that Lynne had managed to feed him an additional two meat sticks by simply half unwrapping and handing them to him. He gave her one of his best alpha glares.

She shrugged and glanced over at Q then back at him. “We’ve been informed that underfed agents are grumpy agents, just like underfed Quartermasters. It’s self-preservation 007.”

He had to acknowledge that that was true and not only for the werewolf staff. Most of the 00’s and a good portion of the A list agents were that way when in country. It was one of the reasons that the MI6 canteen was open at all hours and served the best food of all the branches of the government. Of course this fact was treated as classified and many staff members went to great lengths to spread rumors elsewhere in the government about the alleged abysmal food quality.

Lynne had moved back to the trolley in preparation for leaving but was currently watching the flash of information on the screens with a slight frown on her face.

James moved over beside her and asked in a barely audible voice, “What?”

“He’s slowing down. I can’t tell if he’s hit a dense pocket of data or if he’s fatiguing out.”

James took a deep sniff. He sorted out the odors in the room. Yes, Q needed to rest. “Thanks.” He murmured, “I’ll take it from here.”

She nodded and left.

James turned toward the three brothers and found that Dr. Watson had quietly moved to stand at his left elbow. He’d noted in passing that Watson had been awake and observing the room while he was talking to Lynne but he hadn’t expected him to get up.

Watson caught his questioning glance and said softly, “I don’t know which is going to be worse, convincing the _Holmes on a case_ part to take a break or the protective _omega wolf_ part to let someone else take the lead for a bit. Either way you are going to need backup.”

James was way too well trained to show his surprise. Q as an omega? That made a strange amount of sense given what little he knew about omega wolves. Up until the meeting with the Marrok in Seattle he’d thought that such creatures were pure fantasy. Of course that was before he’d seen a mere slip of a female successfully boss around two of the most dominant and dangerous wolves he’d ever met as if they’d been six years old without any repercussions. It would also explain why Q could seemingly ignore his dominance backed orders. Crap. If this was true then Watson was right, he was going to need help. He’d also need information but that could come later right now he needed to convince Q to rest.

By the time he’d finished thinking he’d made it into the area the brothers had co-opted for their work space. Watson had wisely backed off a little giving him room to maneuver. He grabbed the back of the reclining chair and pulled it down into a fully flat position. Q dropped the track ball mouse he had been using with one hand, stopped typing with the other and glared up at him.

“You need to rest,” he said backing it with his will.

“And I need to look at your leg again and change those bandages,” Watson chimed in as if on cue.

Q looked, along with everyone else, at the small wet spot on his scrub pants. Some fluid from the wound, possibly blood, had seeped through the bandages and onto the scrubs.

“Oh!” said Q going a bit pale as the pain he’d been studiously ignoring fully registered. “That’s vexing,” he continued.

“I suggest you don’t argue with Dr. Watson,” Sherlock remarked as if Q hadn’t spoken. “He’s quite stubborn on medical matters and won’t stop until you give in and do what he says.”

Q’s gaze flicked between Sherlock and Watson. He looked like he was going to say something when Sherlock continued, “Besides, if you don’t take care of yourself I might just find it in me to let Mummy know what happened to….”

“You wouldn’t!” Q burst out. “You do that and I’ll let her know the full details of the cat incident!”

Out of the corner of his eye James saw Mycroft twitch minutely. It seemed as if this was a long standing bit of sibling blackmail.

In the meantime John had been assessing Q’s condition, “Let’s get you over onto a cot and out of those scrubs so I can get a look.” His tone did not brook any argument and James felt when Q grudgingly gave into the inevitable.

James used the opportunity to scoop Q up out of the chair and carry him over to the alcove. In the process Sherlock had managed to abscond with the Despicable Me slippers. John had stopped Mycroft from joining the parade so by the time Q had been deposited on the cot it was only James. A few minutes later Dr. Watson joined them medical supplies in hand. Q glared at Bond blearily as he assisted him out of the scrubs. John quickly removed the old bandages, examined the wound then addressed them both.

“I suspect there was something else besides just silver to that bullet. I want you flat for a few hours and then we’ll see where we are,” he said bluntly. As he spoke he was rebandaging Q’s leg.

James was observing Q closely. He had that faint crease around the edges of his eyes that indicated he was in pain. Bond maneuvered himself so he was in Q’s line of sight and put his hand on Q’s head. Concentrating he pulled the pain through the link that was the pack bond and watched the lines smooth out of Q’s face. Knowing that the link was in some aspects a two way street he decided to try and reverse the direction. He pushed thoughts of relaxation and sleep at Q. It worked even better than he had expected and by the time Dr. Watson was finished Q was sound asleep.

James looked up to see Dr. Watson’s approving nod as he gathered up the detritus left over from bandaging. A simple head jerk in the direction of the other two Holmes’ was enough to indicate that John wanted to talk to all of them at once. James joined Mycroft and Sherlock on the other side of the room and waited for Dr. Watson to finish disposing of the medical waste.

“I don’t like the way the wound is healing,” Dr. Watson said softly as he approached. “If he were human I’d have him back in medical and hooked up to a broad spectrum antibiotic right now. As it is I’m not quite sure what’s going on.” He paused then asked, “Did you get anything?” of James.

“Just pain and a sense of something wrong.” James replied.

John’s face took on a thoughtful expression. “What happened to the bullet I dug out of him? I wonder if there was a magical component as well as the silver. MI6 does have someone with training on staff don’t you?”

“Not really,” James admitted. “We normally use contractors with security clearances or borrow from other agencies.”

“Allow me.” It wasn’t a request. Mycroft was already texting on his mobile. “I’ve ordered an expedited magical report on the bullet to be given ears only here. It shouldn’t take too long once the bullet is located.” As soon as he stopped speaking his mobile vibrated. Mycroft looked down at it and his eyebrows went up. James caught a flash of something that looked like pleasure cross his face. “Our report is on its way gentlemen.”

Sherlock snorted. “You wouldn’t have hired her if she wasn’t efficient brother dear.”

Oh, James thought, Mycroft had texted his PA who had anticipated the request somehow. Sure enough, a few minutes later the PA in question came into the War Room. She had changed and was wearing standard MI6 black fatigues. On her feet were a well-worn set of combat boots that appeared to be her own.

She didn’t even bother approaching the four men, merely nodded at her boss then crossed over to the sleeping Q. James had to work to squelch his instinctive impulse to get between her and Q. She knelt down by Q’s cot. After looking him over she closed her eyes and stretched out one hand gently placing it on Q’s leg. James could feel the magic across the room. It smelled of ozone and made him feel like his hair was standing on end. Suddenly he felt a slight pop, the magical equivalent to equalizing pressure in ones ears when diving or coming down a mountain. A moment later and Lisa stood and came to the watching men.

“The bullet was cursed,” she reported. “It transferred to Taliesen when he was shot. If he wasn’t a wolf he’d be dead from sepsis by now. As it is his body is healing just fast enough to keep ahead of the poison.”

“Hmmm,” said Dr. Watson. “That explains the pain among other things.” His expression changed to a concerned one. “Even in wolves the immune system will fatigue out so while we do have time we don’t have an unlimited amount. Can you break it?”

James was a bit surprised. Dr. Watson had clearly sensed the magic somehow.

“No. It was set with the blood of the caster,” she replied. “Absent some truly powerful healing magic only the death of the caster can remove it.”

Both Sherlock and Mycroft visibly winced at that. James wondered just who they had lost to similar blood magic. Dr. Watson smiled a tight little smile. It reminded James of R’s cat. He’d met the little monster once when he’d tried to invade her flat. He’d ended up scratched and sprayed. The cat had the audacity to look as if he’d pulled off something terribly clever afterword. John Watson’s expression was eerily similar.

John moved over to the conference table and fished about in the disreputable rucksack he’d been hauling around since they left the morgue. He pulled out a plain pewter cup and set it on the table. “If I can figure out how to use this,” he said “then I don’t think the curse will be a problem.”

They all stared at Dr. Watson and the cup. It was an ordinary goblet type cup. Had Watson gone completely off the deep end?


	25. Hol(y)istic Medicine

Q woke up to Sherlock exclaiming, “But that’s all just legend!”

John Watson replied softly, “That’s why we’re testing it on R’s cat. I’m sure as hell not going to let you drink it given the odds that you’ve already ingested something that it has altered.”

“Actually,” James’ voce chimed in “I’m going to insist on being the second lab rat. We need to know if it interacts badly with lycanthropy.”

There was a soft chime of an incoming text. “I think this discussion has been rendered moot gentlemen,” Mycroft’s smooth tones joined the conversation. “Lisa, R and Dr. Neilson report that while the cat test was successful they were interrupted by 004 and agent Uchia. Apparently 004 had somehow figured out what was happening and during the resulting argument Uchia drank the sample. They are adjourning to medical to see if there were any ill effects.”

“Bloody spies,” Watson said without rancor. “It’s a good thing that even the gossip mill around here is classified, otherwise the nation wouldn’t have a secret left!”

Q turned his head and surveyed the room through his eyelashes, not willing to let anyone know he was awake. His brothers, Bond and Watson were standing over by the computer monitors. Sitting on the conference table between him and them was a simple pewter cup next to a pitcher and a glass of what looked like water. As Q surreptitiously watched he realized that the cup was glowing slightly with a friendly warm light. The glow was echoed faintly in the water in the glass. As he observed the glow slowly became brighter. Q was surprised; it took a very powerful item to visibly glow with magic. He opened his eyes fully and realized that no one else in the room had noticed the glow. It wasn’t casting shadows or otherwise affecting the room. The glow, it seemed, was for his eyes alone.

Slowly he sat up. The conversation continued unabated. Even Bond did not notice he’d moved. He was sure the cup and the water in the glass was calling to him. Q was certain that everything would be OK if he managed to make it to the table and drink the water. Now how to get there without alerting the men on the other side of the room?

Q decided he’d intentionally try a variant of what he’d done by instinct during the Q-branch memorial for 003. What he’d hoped for at the time was to somehow shift the mourning and loss into rededication to the cause and a drive to do better. Despite the resulting fatigue it had succeeded far beyond anything he’d envisioned. After he’d figured out what he’d done at the memorial Q had been quietly experimenting on how his emotional state seemed to influence the people around him and under what circumstances. One of the side effects had been his discovery that he could determine the emotional state of his fellow pack members. What had been even stranger was that over time he had started to pick up emotions from some of the other 00’s, a few of the Q-branch staff and Eve Moneypenny when they were in the same room. Right now he could feel James’ worry, Sherlock’s frustration and Mycroft’s concern. It was interesting, he noted in passing, that none of the emotions in the room seemed to be coming from John Watson.

Now how to keep them from noticing his movement? A tad bit of guilt about neglecting the hunt for Magnus and his targets. That should move them off focusing on his medical condition and by extension him. He’d have to do it all on his own and be careful not to draw any power through the pack bond from James. Q concentrated and it seemed to work. All four men turned toward the computer monitors. Mycroft started messing with the display showing the other three something. Sherlock and James made comments while John simply stood back and watched. He waited until he was sure they were fully engaged then stood and headed for the table.

It wasn’t as easy as he had envisioned. He was dizzy and weak. His leg hurt like fire when he put even minimal weight on it. He felt like he was swimming through molasses as he struggled toward the enticing glass of shining water. Finally he made the table. Grabbing the glass with both hands he downed its contents. It tasted like water but burned spreading warmth throughout like a straight shot of excellent whisky.

Q managed to set the glass down on the table with an audible thunk. Of course that alerted everyone and resulted in a surprised chorus of alarm from the other side of the room. He grinned at the four shocked faces. Unfortunately that was just about when his legs suddenly decided that they were simply not going to hold him up anymore. Using the edge of the table to control his descent Q ended up sitting on the floor. He had to giggle a bit as he realized the scene he was presenting. The Quartermaster of MI6 sitting on the floor of a secure, top secret bunker in just his pants and socks. The giggle became a laugh. The minion slippers would have completed the ludicrous scene. Maybe he could ask My to take a picture with his phone.

James and John were at his side in an instant. They moved as if they had choreographed the whole thing, James coming to one side to support him while John knelt on the other taking his pulse and assessing his condition. Looking at the two men Q realized that both of them had a halo effect. James’ was green and brown reminding him of earth and woods and home. John’s was opalescent and shimmery shot through with occasional sparkles. Curious to see if it was a localized effect he looked at his brothers. ‘Lock had a multicolored halo shifting and morphing at dizzying speed as he observed and deduced. My’ was much the same although his was shot through with blue as he attempted to use his considerable will to calm himself. It was beautiful, amazing and somehow extremely funny.

Q attempted to stifle his laughter. It was concerning James and John. What resulted was a choked sounding chuff that reminded Q of a cat coughing up a hairball. He didn’t think werewolves got hairballs but he wondered what one would sound like if they did. Of course his imagination came up with something and he dissolved again into laughter.

In the meantime John had shown a light into his eyes, taken his blood pressure and was currently telling him to squeeze his hands. Q attempted to comply but lost his balance and ended up slumping against James. Q caught a flash of the same light he’d seen earlier coming from the cup on the table. This time John apparently saw it too because he glanced up in that direction. As Q watched John’s face took on a familiar expression of amused shock and exasperation. Q had seen it directed at Sherlock a couple of times through CCTV when Sherlock was being _a bit not good_. In this instance Sherlock was not the recipient of Watson’s glare, the cup was.

Just what we need added to the mix, Q thought, animate objects. It dawned on him that the whole situation had devolved from being an action movie or thriller and now resembled a cartoon feature. All that remained for it to be one was for everyone present to turn into objects of some sort. ‘Lock would end up as his coat or maybe that funny hat…a deerstalker, John would be a teapot, My an umbrella, James would be a gun and of course he’d turn into a tablet. Once again his imagination provided appropriate images and Q laughed even harder.

John and James looked at him with concern. When he got a decent breath in he managed to hum a few bars. James stared at him blankly. John clearly recognized the snippet of music but was puzzled by it. The contrast in the two expressions caused Q to lose his composure again dissolving into a series of giggles. He tried to stop and was partially successful at least until everything suddenly went black.

When consciousness returned Q realized several things in short order. First he was sober; second he was in wolf form and third he was curled up mostly in Bond’s lap as James sat on one of the cots.

“Was that normal?” Sherlock was asking John.

“Normal for a change but not the circumstances that caused it,” John replied.

“Any ideas?” John’s question was clearly directed at Bond.

“The shift completed the healing process,” was James’ reply. Q wiggled a bit and looked up at James’ face as he continued, “He appears to be sober now and I suspect he’s hungry.”

Q thumped his tail on the cot in agreement then tried to extricate himself from Bond’s lap.

James wasn’t having any of it and held him secure lap while saying, “Toss me the rest of those meat sticks.”

The meat sticks were handed over and in short order Q had been fed the few that had remained on the cart. Q whined a bit hoping to convince James to let him go. No such luck.

“I have some steak tartar being delivered from the canteen,” Mycroft informed the group. “I hope that is adequate. It was what could be obtained quickly and in sufficient quantity.”

Q suddenly realized why exactly James was holding him. Hungry was equivalent to grumpy and James did not want any accidents.

John seemed to understand too because he asked “May I take a look?” before even attempting to move.

Q made what he hoped was an affirmative noise at the same time James said “I’ve got him.”  
John approached carefully and ran practiced hands along Q’s leg.

“You’re right” He told Bond “it’s mostly healed over. Quicker and cleaner than normal too. I’ll bet there won’t be a scar in human form either.”

“I won’t take that bet,” James responded.

Before anyone could say anything else the door to the War Room opened and Lisa entered bearing a platter of sandwiches. She was followed by Moneypenny bearing a large bowl of what smelled like steak tartar. Lisa set the platter on the table and Moneypenny brought the bowl over to Bond. John wisely got out of the way retreating to the other side of the room snagging a couple of sandwiches as he went past.

“So,” Bond asked her conversationally, “did catering steal your recipe or vice versa?”

“You ought to know me better by now James. I never let secrets slip. Of course I stole it from them!”

Q knew for a fact that Moneypenny wasn’t telling the whole truth. Recipes were one of many items used to barter for favors within the agency. The steak tartar had shown up in Q branch late last winter as a bribe from accounting. Moneypenny probably had stolen the recipe from catering but she clearly knew it hadn’t originated in that department. That didn’t matter at all though at the moment because the aroma from the dish was making his mouth water and his stomach grumble.

James set the bowl down beside him on the cot and Q surged toward it. James tightened his grip. “Nope Q,” James admonished, “You are not going to eat that all at one go. You’ll make yourself sick.”

Q subsided as James ate one of the tartar balls then promptly fed him another.

Sherlock made a questioning sound and Q heard John tell him softly, “Wolf stuff. I’ll fill you in later.”

Q was distracted by another ball of meat under his nose. He obediently ate it as well as the following one ignoring the argument which had broken out between Sherlock and John as to whether the former was going to eat the sandwich the latter had handed him. James snagged the next bit of tartar and the two of them continued eating until the bowl was gone. By that time Moneypenny had left and Sherlock was sitting in a chair sulkily eating his sandwich. Mycroft had also been cajoled into eating and there were a few minutes of silence as everyone else in the room finished their meal.

Mycroft finished first having only taken half a sandwich. He wiped his hands daintily on a serviette then looked at Lisa and said simply, “Report.”

Lisa looked up from her ever present blackberry. “The initial test resulted in a complete healing of the cat’s ear. There were no ill effects on Agent Uchia however a few bruises he had acquired in the last few hours seemed to be missing much to his mate’s chagrin.”

What? Q thought, Bruises? Then it suddenly made sense. 004, Laura, had been very interested in Toby and vice versa. His nose had confirmed that on numerous occasions. Now if he’d interpreted what he had overheard from Lynne and Bond’s conversation correctly, she’d spent most of the night down in the cell block with him in canine form and taken him home for breakfast where the two of them had engaged in other pleasurable activities. The more he thought about it the more 00 behavior seemed to parallel werewolf proclivities. If she’d left bruises then she’d been visually marking her territory even if said marks wouldn’t last very long due to Toby’s metabolism. Mate though; that implied a level of permanence that was more than just the usual interoffice hook-up. Q wasn’t sure what this would mean on the werewolf front but they’d definitely have to declare it officially.

Q suddenly realized that Lisa had stopped talking and everyone in the room was looking at him. He concentrated and determined that the last thing she had said was something about being unable to tell if the curse had been negated.

“I suspect it has,” said Watson in full on medical mode, “given that the wound is almost completely healed now.”

“Can you confirm?” Mycroft asked.

“Yes but…” Lisa replied keeping her eyes focused on both James and Q.

Oh, she wanted consent; both his and Bond’s. He looked up at James’ face. James nodded and moved his arms out of Q’s way so that Q could get up. Q did so, getting off the cot and stopping to stretch before ambling over and sitting in front of Lisa.

Q had known for a long time that Lisa was a practitioner as well as Mycroft’s PA and bodyguard. This, however, was the first time he’d seen her in person since he’d been changed. It was interesting. She smelled like a human with an overtone of ozone, he assumed this was the magic, and a faint hint of something like spoiled milk. He’d have to ask James about that.

Q knew that the ability to use magic was innate; you either had it or you didn’t. He also was aware that regardless of the ability, the power itself had to be paid for by some sort of sacrifice. It could be either self-sacrifice or that of another; willing or unwilling. White witches used self-sacrifice while black ones tended to prefer unwilling victims. Most witches employed by the government, especially those with security clearances, were grey and obtained their power by personal, from fellow workers or sometimes from enemies of the state. If Q had to guess Lisa’s faint rotten odor reflected that fact.

The ozone smell suddenly increased and Lisa’s face went blank, eyes glazed over.

Q sneezed.

The sound seemed to wake Lisa from her trance and she looked at him smiling. “It’s gone,” she informed him directly.

That was good news Q thought. He felt fine now but having confirmation both medical and magical was reassuring. That left one minor problem, he currently was furry and attempting to use a computer was going to be an exercise in frustration even if he could get his hands, no paws, on the prototype laptop he had been working on. He laid down on the floor in preparation to shift back.

“No.” James’ command was firm as was the hand on the scruff of his neck. “That fast a turnaround is not a good idea.”

“He’s right,” John chimed in. “You need to stay put for a few hours especially after an involuntary change. It’s your body’s way of telling you that you need to be in one form or the other to heal correctly.”

Q huffed his frustration and sat up again. He looked at his brothers. Neither of them seemed to be anxious for more information. In fact My was looking contemplative and Sherlock was now staring at the cup on the table.

Q stood up, crossed to Sherlock and nudged him with his shoulder. Sherlock started then looked down at him. “That,” he said referring to the cup, “is the piece I was missing from my analysis.”

“Indeed,” Mycroft agreed.

Q could see that both his brothers were reorganizing their original deductions to factor in the powerful artifact. Q didn’t even bother. While deduction and analysis were things he could do he generally wasn’t near as fast or effective as either of his brothers. No his forte was locating, obtaining and sorting of relevant information. In his current form that wasn’t’ possible so he was stuck waiting for whichever came to the end of their chain of deductions first. Fortunately he didn’t have to wait long because John Watson became impatient.

“Oi!” said John waiving a hand in front of Sherlock’s face. “No getting lost in the mind palace. Talk to me.”

Once again to Q’s surprise Sherlock obediently started talking, “Magnus wants the cup for its power, especially if he adds the stolen gemstones into the configuration. It will give him the magical boost to put him on a par with the other grey lords. The cup is also the factor that allowed Liam to create the overly effective versions of the common street drugs. It’s clear from Liam’s notes and the instructions he received,” Sherlock waived his hand in the direction of the spiral bound notebook he’d grabbed in the drug den, “that Magnus was steering the production of drugs that would work on Fae to allow him to influence their behavior. The fact that the drugs produced happened to have higher potency in humans than their normal counterparts was a pleasant side effect allowing the drug manufacturing group to make a tidy profit from the sale of the modified drugs.”

Sherlock continued, “Liam and his group were being run by Albert, my third attacker, with no direct contact from Magnus. This compartmentalization was fortunate for us. If Magnus had been anywhere within that house he would have, given your assessment of his innate power level John, known there was a high powered magical artifact present. Albert was also involved in at least some of the jewelry heists; most likely the easy ones, simple breaking and entering. Magnus reserved his Fae cohorts for places like the Peterson’s where coercion was needed to open a safe or turn off an alarm. Albert wasn’t a mole for Brighter Futures, he was simply greedy. He nicked some of the gemstones and also set up the distribution for the modified drugs. Liam was the mole and he left enough evidence to frame Albert resulting in Albert’s death and marking as a traitor. The werewolf lead mercenary group backed up by the water fae was sent in to grab the product, the notes and get rid of Liam and the rest of his cadre to keep the operation secret.”

Sherlock paused and looked at Q, “From what you found it looks like he has a plan to allow him to drug the water supply of most of the major cities in the country. What’s puzzling is the timing. Everything we’ve found indicates Magnus takes the long view. The drugs were still experimental not ready for full scale production. I estimate there was only enough to affect London and only part of London at that if you wanted any decent concentration. With what he thought was the mole removed he should have left the drug research operation in place until there were some better results. Something moved his timeline and much as I would like to take credit I don’t’ think it was our,” he looked at John, “investigatory efforts.”

Mycroft made a small harrumphing noise. Q knew that it was his version of Sherlock’s exhaled ha when information finally fell into place. “A conclave; a meeting of most of the powerful Fae in the country if not the world,” he said succinctly.

“Really?” asked John. “From what I know they keep those things seriously under wraps. We humans never hear about them until after the fact and then only because they deign to make some sort of announcement regarding _new policies_ or some such.”

“True,” Mycroft replied, “But I was consulted several weeks ago by a colleague regarding security arrangements for the London Fae enclave. Due to this and other events I suspected that there might be a conclave in the near future. Recent indications have confirmed that some sort of Fae meeting was imminent. That would be sufficient temptation to advance a timetable I would think even without the artifact in hand.”

“Use the drugs to gain initial influence then use a magical artifact or two to cement his position. He is actively searching for the cup. I suspect there are other items on his acquisition list.” Sherlock’s tone was matter of fact.

“Thus all the money making schemes MI6 ran into,” John commented.

There were a lot easier ways to make money even in the illicit arms supply business. Q thought to himself. Why a dirty bomb to Chinese terrorists of all people? They were clearly not the most well-funded group in the bidding at the time. That particular honor would most likely been held by either one of the Middle Eastern groups or Mr. Ivanov’s clients.

James was apparently thinking on the same lines. “If it were just money he would have sold the missing nuclear material to the highest bidder and not play footsie with a Uyghur separatist coalition…unless he wanted a diversion with a large casualty count.”

“A dirty bomb in a major Chinese city would provide both a large casualty count and focus world attention. It would certainly keep me busy for several months,” Mycroft concurred wryly.

It was silent for a moment, except for the clicking of Lisa’s nails on her blackberry, as everyone considered the ramifications.

“But then why the mercenaries with a werewolf,” John asked suddenly. “Mercenaries I understand. You use them to get to the water supply but given the complexity I doubt the werewolf component is accidental. This guy’s schemes are as convoluted as...” John’s voice trailed off. He didn’t have to say _Moriarity_.

“Challenge rights,” James said flatly. “Anyone can challenge for a leadership position. He’s after the Master of the Isles slot. First the Fae, then the Wolves.”

“And then use those groups to influence the Government,” Mycroft added.

“Ha!” breathed Sherlock. “The modified GHB wasn’t the source of my problem. It was a spell in conjunction with the GHB.”

Q looked up at the apparent non-sequitur.

“The modified drug made me highly susceptible to the magic,” he continued. “Magnus was in the bar that night. I didn’t see him but I remember his cologne. He clearly didn’t want anyone to talk about him if they happened to notice and he set a spell to ensure that. I must have come within the sphere of the spell after I was drugged and the interaction caused the effects. The spell was general, not specifically directed at me so my protections were not triggered.”

“Bloody Fae loophole abuse,” John muttered.

Mycroft looked sour. “It’s more serious than I feared. Drug the populace, influence elections; drug the politicians, influence the laws; drug the bureaucrats and run the country.”

“Well knowing what and why is well and good,” James broke in again, “but how are we going to get ahold of this Magnus and stop him permanently before anything goes down?”

Q could tell both his brothers were surprised. They had been so focused on deducing the threat that the practical had, at least for the moment, escaped them. He could see them both start to focus on the problem when John Watson started to chuckle.

“Oh I don’t think that will be a problem at all,” he said pointing at the cup. “We just offer him what he wants!”


	26. Exploits and Disclosures

John Watson was no stranger to waiting: wait for the medication to take effect, wait for the insurgents to attack, wait for the next batch of injured, wait for the body to heal, wait for the suspect to make a move, wait in the cold and the rain and the dark while freezing your arse off for Sherlock to spot something. This time was no worse or better than most of the others with one glaring exception. Waiting for the pain of loss to subside was the worst type of waiting because one was never quite sure if it would ever really be over. Whenever he thought about it, even in passing, John thanked every power he could think of that he’d been granted a second chance. No, waiting for Magnus to show up was the normal every day sort of waiting and John bore it with equanimity.

It had been four long days since Taliesen, Q, had been shot. During that time Q and his crew of boffins had somehow cobbled together a reasonable facsimile of the cup. It looked the same and its magical signature when tested would register the same. It wouldn’t hold up to a detailed analysis but then again if all went well it wouldn’t have to. Q had promptly given the fake cup to Mycroft. Sherlock then just as promptly nicked it from his brother. The whole theft was designed so that Sherlock could truthfully say, if asked, that he had stolen the cup from its former owner.

Mycroft in the same four days has also been busy. According to Sherlock he had alerted his Fae colleague about Magnus’ plans and provided evidence. He had managed to get her agreement to participate in the current course of action. Somehow he had managed to do this by only telling her about the existence of the fake cup and not letting slip that the real article had been located. Mycroft had been informed in turn that the Fae would mete out whatever justice they deemed fit immediately after the decoy cup had been passed to Magnus. John would also bet that he had let his colleague know in no uncertain terms that if the Fae did not deal with Magnus then Her Majesty’s Government would do so with extreme prejudice. Since it was Mycroft John was sure the exchange had been exceedingly polite and a transcript, if one existed, would have sounded like a discussion of some other matter entirely.

John’s part in the setup had been relatively straightforward. He had been tasked to get word to Magnus via the Fae grapevine that Sherlock had found something interesting and powerful. Sherlock couldn’t do so directly because the ban on lower level Fae talking to him was still in full force and effect. John ended up having a very nice chat with the brownie that lived in the back gardens of the 200 block of Baker Street. The chat had a rather interesting side effect when he and the brownie were discovered mid-conversation by Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson managed to invite the brownie into her kitchen and plied him with honeyed milk and biscuits without injuring his pride or insulting him. By the time John left with his mission accomplished the two of them were thick as thieves gossiping about the neighbors. As he walked out of A he could hear Mrs. Hudson warning the brownie against invading B unless specifically invited due to the toxic chemicals and other potentially Fae injuring substances strewn around the flat. The brownie had laughed and agreed asserting that so long as he was welcome in her kitchen he would be content.

So now all that remained to do was wait. Sherlock who could remain motionless for hours on a stakeout seemed to be having trouble this time. He finally settled upon composing as his method of coping. As was his wont composing consisted of Sherlock striding around the flat flicking his violin bow, suddenly stopping and playing a phrase or two then rushing over to the music stand to scribble furiously on a sheet of staff paper; rinse and repeat. Sherlock was on the 9th or 10th round of pacing/playing/scribbling when the bottom dropped out of John’s world. His limited precognition was doing its thing warning him that something dangerous was imminent. Sherlock’s footsteps came to a stop. He must have been watching closely and had caught the expression on John’s face as it hit. Sherlock released the tension on the bow then placed both it and the violin in its case for protection. At the same time John got up and started for the flat door. Better to let the danger in the front door himself than potentially catch anyone else in the crossfire. Thank heavens Mrs. Hudson was out for the evening.

John stepped out on the landing then started down the 17 steps to the front door. About half way down he noticed that the brownie was standing in the crack of the open doorway to Mrs. Hudson’s flat with a look of pained concentration on its face. It took what seemed to be an involuntary step, judging by the grip it had on the door jam, toward the front hall just as the knocker rapped sharply thrice.

“I’ve got it,” John said to the brownie.

The brownie relaxed, released from the compulsion to open the door by someone else taking on the responsibility. “Careful,” it whispered, “’e’s a bad ‘un!”

“I know,” John whispered back then louder “Coming!” to whomever was at the door. “You might want to go and check up on Mrs. Turner,” he suggested softly as he clattered down the remaining steps.

“Yes!” hissed the Brownie who darted back into A and closed the door presumably to nip out the back and get out of range of whatever hold on him that Magnus or his messenger had imposed.

John took a deep breath then opened the door.

The Fae lord, who John now knew was most likely the elusive Magnus, stood on the doorstep. “May I?” he asked politely.

“If your former statement is still in effect,” John replied.

“It is.”

John stepped aside holding the door and Magnus entered. John did not speak but merely gestured to the stairs. The Fae lord strode up them without even looking back, dismissing John as insignificant. John followed him up the stairs but not before grabbing the antique umbrella with the iron ribbing from the stand just inside the door. It had been provided by Mycroft and strategically placed for just this eventuality.

“Ah, I see you received my message,” Sherlock commented as Magnus entered the flat. “Tea?” he offered as John paused in the entranceway.

“Not at the present,” the Fae replied his attention focused on the fake cup which was currently sitting between the skull and the jackknife pierced pile of mail on the mantelpiece. “It appears you have located my cousin’s work.”

“I deduced it might be,” Sherlock said mildly “but it’s always nice to have confirmation.”

“I suppose you wish some sort of recompense for its location.”

“Not in the manner you are implying,” Sherlock sounded vaguely insulted. “The location of this item was in part its own reward as its presence explained the sudden prevalence of certain enhanced substances within the city. Those substances were causing a bit of trouble for the local authorities and the item’s removal will expedite a return to normality.”

John could see Magnus’ eyebrows rise minutely in surprise before he regained control of his features. Interesting, he hadn’t known that the artifact was involved in the drug manufacturing effort.

“Ah, in that case you’d have no objection if I took it off your hands?”

“Not at all,” Sherlock’s voice was emotionless. “In fact I suspect it might be beneficial. I have come to understand that the manner in which I acquired it might have unfortunate side effects which could be better dealt with by others.”

John had to admire the artful nature of that particular statement. Implications abounded but Sherlock had said nothing that was untrue. Luckily, judging by his facial expression and aura, Magnus was assuming that Sherlock was merely being careful as a human dealing with what he knew to be a powerful Fae rather than being actively misleading.

“It is always good,” the Fae commented, “when the return of a single item can result in the solution of two or even more disparate issues.”

“True,” Sherlock murmured his assent.

“I am curious,” Magnus’ voice had an odd echo; John suspected a touch of glamor aimed at Sherlock, “Whether the investigation that brought you to my attention was instrumental in the location of the artifact?”

Sherlock in turn put on his _I’m going to be enigmatic_ expression and replied, “Not directly. I fully expect that that investigation to come to a satisfactory conclusion shortly,”

John hoped that Magnus would think Sherlock’s response was the result of whatever he’d cast rather than the direct challenge that John knew it was. Sherlock must have caught some echo of John’s thought process in his expression because he gave an exaggerated blink. It was a dead on emulation of human throwing off a mild compulsion.

“Well then if I may,” Magnus gestured to the cup, “I’ll depart and leave you to your investigations.”

Sherlock inclined his head in assent, “Be my guest.”

“It has been interesting meeting you,” Magnus walked over to the cup. “I suspect our paths will cross again.”

“Oh, I believe you can count on that.” Sherlock clearly couldn’t resist.

“I look forward to it then.” Magnus turned and John, still holding the antique umbrella, vacated the doorway.

Magnus’ face twitched slightly when he registered John’s possession of one of the few weapons in the flat that could harm a Fae. Oh well, John thought, he’d truly blown his _somewhat dimwitted sidekick_ cover now. It was clear from Magnus’ expression that he’d gone from being a mere adjunct to someone who knew enough to be potentially dangerous in his own right. In for a penny, John smiled showing his teeth. He kept a tight rein on his sight. No, it wouldn’t do to let Magnus know he could see through the glamor if he so wished. That would raise his potential as a threat enough to make him an imminent target. That wouldn’t do at all. John adjusted his stance a bit hoping to project mid-level wolf attempting to buck his alpha’s authority. Judging from the dismissive snort Magnus gave has he exited, he’d succeeded. Whew, crisis averted John thought as he watched the Fae lord let himself out.

As soon as the door closed John turned and went back into the sitting room. He found Sherlock standing by the window humming faintly to himself. The tune wound itself to its conclusion and Sherlock looked up.

“John, the game is on!” he said as he strode to the coat rack. He grabbed both coats as he finished speaking and started to hum again.

Sherlock quickly shrugged into his then tossed John’s in his general direction. John had been expecting something of the sort and grabbed the flying garment on the down beat. Sherlock often used pieces of music to time things. What he didn’t expect was Sherlock heading up the stairs rather than out the door.

“Fire escape, just in case he has someone watching his back,” Sherlock explained.

“Uh, wouldn’t he also have someone watching the back alley knowing your propensities?”

Sherlock snorted as he opened John’s bedroom window, “He’s arrogant. It was clear from our exchange that he thinks I’d react like any other knowledgeable human dealing with the Fae. If he’d read your blog he’d have never made an appeal to my alleged pecuniary interests.”

John nodded in agreement following Sherlock out onto the fire escape, “Clearly didn’t do the research. If he had he’d have dropped hints of a puzzle instead.”

Sherlock dropped down from the lower platform onto the bins, “Hurry John, we’ll need to run if we want to catch him in Regents Park!”

John dropped onto the bins himself. Surprisingly Sherlock hadn’t run on ahead but was waiting. “Go!” said John as soon as his feet hit the ground and they were off.

Regents Park at midnight was not the best lit place in the city. You could always count on several areas to be steeped in shadow and only partially illuminated. Sherlock, of course, knew every one of them. They spotted Magnus in the third one of these that they checked. Sherlock halted so that they were partially obscured by a hedge and an overgrown tree. Not completely obscured but with at least some cover so as to not be blatantly obvious. The plan had been that Magnus would be so engrossed in testing the fake cup that he wouldn’t notice their approach. As near as John could tell this appeared to be the case.

When they arrived Magnus was rummaging around in the pocket of his coat. He pulled out something that looked like a vial, popped the cork and poured the contents into the cup. After looking into it for a moment he made a complicated gesture over the contents. John caught a flash of magic. If he hadn’t been looking for it he wouldn’t have noticed the slight hesitation before the cup glowed with a magical aura. That hesitation and the color indicated to John that the magic wasn’t really coming from the cup but was merely a reflection of whatever had been cast onto it. Q had been very clever. Anyone testing the cup at first glance might assume that the cup was reacting to the testing magic.

Magnus looked pleased then drank the contents of the cup. After a moment his face took on a thunderous cast. It looked almost demonic in the dim light.

Uh oh, John thought, he’s figured it out.

“Sherlock Homes!” Magnus snarled as he tossed the cup away in contempt. He brought his hands up in what clearly was the start of a magical gesture.

John moved. He grabbed Sherlock’s arm and pulled him completely behind the tree, placing it as well as himself between Sherlock and Magnus. He was damn sure that whatever the Fae was planning was not going to be good. John watched carefully. He was going to have to make sure that whatever was headed for Sherlock would go through both the tree and him before it impacted Sherlock’s protections. Luckily he didn’t have to.

Before Magnus could complete the complicated hand gesture a voice rang out, “Malvern ab Gnusayr you stand accused of crimes against the Sidhe. I hereby bind you to the court’s justice.”

“True name binding,” Sherlock muttered in John’s ear. “Magnus was a modified initialism of his given name.”

John, keeping ahold of Sherlock so he’d stay behind him just in case, peered around the tree. Sherlock moved up close behind him to look over his head. There were now five Fae standing in the clearing including Magnus. There were two males glamoured to look like business men, a female in jogging togs and trainers and a small girl. John recognized the last one as Mycroft’s colleague, pigtails and all.

Magnus addressed the child-like Fae, ignoring the other three. “I should have known. Your counsel has always been to cooperate with the humans rather than to take back what is rightfully ours.”

“My counsel has been my own and will remain so despite your efforts,” she replied mildly.

“Traitor,” Magnus snarled as the other three Fae closed in.

John couldn’t see what exactly they did but shortly they lead Magnus off presumably to face whatever justice the Grey Lords saw fit to meet out. Surprisingly, the small Fae did not follow them. She stood and watched her compatriots lead Magnus off a thoughtful look on her face. Once they were out of sight she turned and looked toward the tree where John and Sherlock were standing. She gestured, a come hither motion, without saying anything. John knew that he and Sherlock were being summoned. Not letting go of Sherlock’s hand John stepped out into the clearing.

The child-like Fae gestured again, this time it was clear that she wanted John to approach her. Sherlock made a small encouraging noise and released his hand. John walked alone to several feet in front of the small Fae. He wasn’t quite sure of the protocol so he sank down on one knee so as to be at her eye level. She smiled and closed the distance between them, holding out her hands.

“You are truly one of my line, John Watson” she said as he took her small hands in his.

John didn’t know what to say to that.

His confusion must have shown on his face because she smiled and added, “A while ago a child of mine took a human lover. Their offspring was your sire. You art thus my kin in blood as well as power.”

“Oh, should I call you great grandmother then?” was the first thing that came out. John winced as he realized the implications.

Luckily the Fae didn’t seem to be insulted. She laughed. “We don’t count kinship as humans do John Watson but know you this from this night forward all shall know I have given you my favor.” She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.

“Uh, you do me great honor. I’ll try to be worthy of same.” John managed to say.

She smiled at him again and released his hands clearly pleased that he’d managed to express his gratitude without actually saying _thanks_ since expressing such a sentiment out loud to a Fae would create a magical obligation between them. “I must go and deal with politics now but I will leave you with a bit of advice.” She glanced at Sherlock, “You really need to do something about making things right with your beloved. It is clear to anyone with eyes that your advances would not be unwelcome no matter what has been said between you previously!”

Oh great, John thought, my powerful Fae great-grandmother is now giving me advice on my love life. He glanced back at Sherlock. No one else would have been able to tell but John could see that he was holding in a major fit of the giggles. He looked back at the Fae, “I will seriously consider your words,” he replied formally.

She nodded at him then turned and skipped off acting for all intents like the child she appeared. John stood and backed up to stand again beside Sherlock. At the edge of the clearing she turned and waived at the both of them before disappearing into the park.

“I suspected you had some magical heritage but nothing like this,” Sherlock commented. “It’s always something!”

John looked at him wondering if this revelation was going to change anything.

Sherlock smiled, “Chinese?”

“Yes.” John paused then added, “You clearly need more practice in predicting the fortune cookies.”

Sherlock reached out and wound his arm through John’s. “This time I’ll be right!” he said as they started back toward Baker Street and John knew that everything was going to be just fine.


	27. Decisions and Repercussions

“Assets 1 and 2 have cleared the park,” Q’s voice came in clearly through the earpiece as Bond lay on the roof peering through the night vision scope at an empty clearing in Regent’s Park.

“We’ve got ‘em” 004’s voice replied.

“Don’t be surprised if you get spotted.”

“If we get spotted….oomph.”

James suppressed a chuckle. From what he could hear over the earpiece 004 was being rather thoroughly snogged.

When the sounds subsided he heard a rather breathless 004 say “Not that I minded but what the heck was that for?”

Toby’s voice was muffled since he apparently did not have his coms turned on, “Not getting spotted!”

“I’m passing you off to R,” Q’s voice broke in, “and tell Toby to turn on his coms.”

“Yes.” 004’s voice was a sultry hiss acknowledging both the order and playing the lover at the same time. Clearly 004 was assuming that at least one of their assets could read lips.

“Q out,” Q acknowledged then seamlessly addressed Bond, “Anything yet 007?”

“No. Give it another quarter hour and then we’ll go in and retrieve...” Bond went silent as he spotted a heat source in the underbrush at the edge of the clearing. As he adjusted the scope the blob resolved into a four footed predator. From the shape of the shoulders and forelegs it was clear Bond had a werewolf in his sights. “We’ve got a wolf sniffing around,” he informed Q.

Bond watched as the unknown wolf investigated where all the Fae had been standing in wait for Magnus. It moved on and checked where Sherlock and Watson had been hiding. Finally it stepped out into the clearing and sniffed around the area where the false cup lay on the grass. It was interesting that the werewolf had come investigating on four feet instead of two. While four was more noticeable to humans it was less noticeable to Fae. That implied that the werewolf had known what he was walking into. James wondered if it was the mercenary or just one of Shaun’s crew who had happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He wouldn’t be able to tell for sure until he had a scent.

The wolf didn’t take the cup, merely let it lie. He probably could smell the residual magic and didn’t want to chance taking it. Instead he circled round till he came to where Magnus had stood. James observed the wolf follow the trail that Magnus and his captors had taken out of the clearing.

“He’s following Magnus’ trail,” James reported to Q.

“Got him,” Q said less than a minute later. “He just crossed the outer circle into Park Square West. Looks like he’s playing _stray dog_.”

James took another scan of the clearing. “Looks clear for now.” He started to move to the stairs heading for ground level.

“Good,” Q said, “I’ll nip over and retrieve the cup then.” There was a pause then “Let me out of the car 006 or I’ll never, ever equip you with anything more explosive than a Christmas cracker.”

“Why can’t you have James go retrieve it?” Alec sounded tired but upbeat.

James knew that Alec had completed a successful mission in Slovokia the day before. What he hadn’t known was that he’d made it back to London. Alec must have been coming in to report just as Q was heading out and assigned himself as driver-cum-bodyguard for the evening’s festivities.

“Because it is keyed to cause problems for anyone who is not me.”

“Really? Why would you do that Q?” It was clear Alec was stalling.

“It was the fastest and simplest way to give it an aura. The Fae would be immune, wolves and blood relations to a lesser extent, anyone else will get a nasty shock similar to a Taser.” Q explained.

“Clever.” Alec complimented. “Now continue to be clever and stay put until James and I switch places!”

There was an annoyed huff from Q. It wasn’t as good as a verbal acknowledgement but it was a tacit acquiescence to stay put. James realized that it was as good as he was going to get.

“I’m on my way,” James chimed in as additional encouragement for Q to stay in the car.

Surprisingly Q stayed not only until James reached the car but also until Alec had settled himself in the sniper’s nest to provide cover.

“You’re still clear,” Alec reported.

James opened the back of the MI6 armored sedan to release Q. “Let’s do this fast,” was his only remark.

Together they crossed the street into the park and once out of sight of the roadway broke into a jog. They made good time to the clearing. James stopped at the tree to smell the werewolf’s scent. It smelled vaguely familiar but James couldn’t identify it. Possibly he had met him once in passing or he was related to someone James did know. He watched as Q crossed to the center of the clearing and went to one knee to pick up the false cup. Q picked it up then froze for a moment before getting back to his feet and putting the cup into a messenger bag. Q trotted back over to Bond.

“The wolf was the same one who raided the drug lab. It’s the mercenary alright,” Q commented as they trotted through the park taking a slightly longer route back to the car to avoid any potential followers.

“The scent is familiar,” James added, “but I can’t quite place it right now.”

“Getting old James?” came Alec’s good natured teasing. “They say that memory is the first thing to go!”

“Stuff it Alec,” James grumbled his usual response to teasing then added, “Get a move on, we don’t need to be out and about any longer than necessary.”

“Roger” was Alec’s only response.

********

The next week was quiet. After the first twenty-four hours the surveillance on Holmes and Watson went back to mostly electronic, coordinated through the Home office and Mycroft, with only the occasional tail usually when they were out consulting for the MET. Toby was the most often assigned to that particular duty and he seemed to take it in stride when Sherlock would inevitably spot him.

James found out several days in that Toby was having a rather lively exchange with the detective via SMS regarding what exactly had enabled him to be located and recognized. Apparently it was becoming quite a game between the two of them. John had remarked that if Toby learned half the things that Sherlock was attempting to teach that he would be able to trail someone without being spotted nine times out of ten. James agreed and suspected that if this assignment continued for any period of time that the young man would be able to trail someone down the middle of a dinner table during a formal banquet and not be identified.

Q hadn’t been able to track the mercenary werewolf back to his lair with the CCTV cameras and since that night Magnus was taken by the Fae there had been no additional sightings of him at all. In a metropolitan area with a population of 8.31 million people and god knows how many dogs catching one individual even if you had a decent picture was a long shot at best. Without any idea of what his human form looked like the task was well-nigh impossible.

To make matters worse, James still couldn’t remember where exactly he’d run into the scent before. He was however sure that he had never run across this particular individual. No, the scent was similar to someone he’d had contact with in the past, most likely a relative of the mercenary or possibly even his werewolf progenitor.

In somewhat of desperation move both James and Q had taken runs around the city on the off chance they’d catch a whiff of their elusive prey. Q had gone with Alec and James with 004 but found nothing. He’d also alerted Shaun to have his folks keep a nose out for strange scents. There was no luck on that front either. James figured that they’d have to wait for the next full moon before they would even have a ghost of a chance.

Despite the quiet week James felt apprehensive. He had a gut feeling that something big was going to break loose and soon. He’d had similar feelings while out on assignment and the net result had always been a seriously FUBAR situation. This was why, when he saw the small wedge he habitually placed in his flat door when leaving lying on the floor, he decided to enter another way; through the bedroom window.

There was no alarm to bypass, James didn’t really believe in them. He didn’t tend to accumulate much that would be missed if a burglar wanted to abscond with it. If someone wanted anything else, well he himself was the best deterrent to that sort of thing as people who tried usually ended up dead. Stealthily moving down the hallway, gun drawn, James caught a whiff of a familiar scent. He holstered his firearm and strolled into the sitting room where he found Shaun McKellan sitting on his sofa nursing a glass of Scotch

Shaun looked up as James entered and remarked “You know there are times I really wish I could still get drunk.”

Interesting, James thought. Shaun could not have missed that he didn’t use the front door but he did not even rib James about his paranoia as he usually did. Something was up.

“So why are you hiding in my flat _not getting drunk_ then?” he asked.

Shaun sighed, “Because I’m trying to avoid giving an answer on a decision I’ve not made yet.”

“Ah, and no one will look for you here because none of your people know about my flat?” James’ tone was sarcastic. He knew that the London pack was well aware where he lived.

“They’ll get around to it eventually if I’m gone long enough.”

James crossed over to the bar, snagged a glass and poured himself some Scotch. “So, what’s the decision you are avoiding?” he asked curiously as he sat.

Shaun was focused on the alcohol in his glass. “I was approached by several alphas this afternoon with an interesting proposition,” he didn’t look up as he spoke. “They said they represented a coalition of alphas that want me to take the Master of the Isles spot.”

Oh. James was a bit stunned. “Do you want it?”

“It’s a pain in the ass. I’ve been acting as Madden’s second and taking charge temporarily when he was out of the country on and off for years. It’s a lot of work keeping the community in check and working correctly. It’s going to be even worse as we start to go public.”

“Who’s the alternative?”

“Johnston out of Birmingham” Shaun’s tone evidenced his dislike.

“Don’t know him but then again I’m out of the country these days more often than I’m in it.”

“He’s a ham-fisted blowhard with absolutely no social skills.”

James winced, “Not the sort of person you’d want to manage a PR campaign I take it.”

“No.”

“Any others?”

“None that are strong enough to hold the position without help and none of them have any clue about what to do with the publicity shit storm that’s going to hit when the Marrok makes his move.”

James snorted, “Sounds to me like you’ve already made your decision. If it comes down to it can you take Johnston in a fight?”

It was Shaun’s turn to snort, “When I’m fresh definitely. It might get dicey if they try to run a gauntlet of challengers at me first.”

“Other than this coalition who can you count on?”

“Well, the coalition claims to represent a majority of the packs except the Midlands, the Scots and the Welsh. Johnston has the Midlands wrapped up but I don’t know if he’s made inroads with either of the other two groups.”

“When is this all going down and am I invited to the party?”

“You are officially an alpha now. I made sure of that before Madden left for the states. Meeting’s next week. The details are there,” Shaun gestured to a piece of paper lying on the coffee table. “Do I need to ask?”

“Hell no!” James exclaimed. “I’ll be there and I suspect you won’t have to worry about the Scottish packs either.”

“What do you know that I don’t?”

“Well,” James grinned at Shaun, “The Scottish packs are terribly clannish but they tend to follow the Kincaid’s lead.”

“And?”

“Technically I’m Kincaid’s liege lord so my standing with you will give them all the excuse they need to throw you their support.”

Shaun looked like James had lifted the weight of the world off his shoulders. “Gods, I had forgotten that connection of yours. I admit that the Scots had me worried. A couple of those alphas are real bruisers and they tend to want a dominance fight just to show the candidate is worthy to rule them. The Welsh don’t get along with the Midlands so that means Johnston is the primary concern unless someone random comes out of the woodwork.”

“The latter might be a possibility,” James warned. “That strange wolf your people were tracking is most likely a mercenary with intents on the position. He had Fae backing at least until several nights ago.”

“Oh? Do tell?”

“Classified,” James said shortly.

Shaun made a face and emptied his glass. “By the way, how are you coping with your pack?”

“Well, it’s growing. I now have two wolves, along with a bunch of human spies, a couple bureaucrats, and I may be stealing your pack doctor from you shortly.”

“What? John?”

“If you haven’t noticed he’s all but mated to that flat mate of his who just happens to be blood related to one of my two wolves.”

Shaun looked surprised then calculating, “The detective hmm…I suppose that means you’ll end up with the brother too then.”

“Excuse me?” James had an idea where Shaun was going but he didn’t want to tip his hand.

“The detective’s brother. He’s allegedly some sort of _minor governmental official_. John mentioned him to me once; poncy git with an umbrella and a penchant for kidnapping people when he wants to talk to them. You’re most likely going to have to explain it all to him at some point to gain his cooperation.”

“I don’t think so,” James replied. “He’s extraordinarily well connected and knows about our existence already. I’m sure he’ll figure out the ramifications of being related to a werewolf when he has time to consider the matter. In fact,” James continued figuring that Shaun might already know or suspect, “He is most likely Madden’s government contact.”

“I’ve never met the contact but from what Madden let slip and what John has said about him I suspect you may be correct.” Shaun shook his head, “I wish you luck. Arthur always said he was a real pain to deal with; he’s smart and able to detect lies and even half-truths as well as any of us. I wish you luck with him.” Shaun put down his empty glass and got up, “Thanks. I’ll see you next week then.” It was a statement rather than a question backed with a bit of magical authority.

James smiled to himself at that. Shaun was already Master of the Isles, it only remained for the rest of the packs to acknowledge the fact.

******

James stood at the edge of the firelight with David, Shaun’s second, and watched as the other Alphas mingled and attempted to cement their places in the overall hierarchy. Most of the other Alphas had brought their seconds and one other as a witness but James had come alone. Q hadn’t been too happy about that. In fact Q hadn’t been too happy about the whole set up at all. He’d argued, grumbled, then argued some more and finally pulled up every scrap of information he could find about the meeting location and surrounding countryside. Despite the fact that this wasn’t a MI6 operation Q had issued him a tracking watch, a car, a mobile with satellite capacity and a palm coded Walther complete with silver tipped rounds all under the guise of _field testing equipment combinations_. Of course James had left everything in the car to avoid insulting his fellow Alphas.

The jockeying for position had been going on for almost 45 minutes when the last set of Alphas arrived.

“That’s Johnston,” David whispered as the group moved next to the fire.

Just then James caught a whiff of a familiar scent. He couldn’t tell exactly which of the new arrivals it was but one of them was the mercenary wolf.

The new arrivals circulated for about five minutes before an authoritative voice with a slight Welsh accent said “Gentlemen, let’s get this started.”

The Alphas started moving to stand in a circle around the fire while everyone else moved to the periphery. James maneuvered himself to stand directly to Shaun’s left. He recognized a couple of the other Alphas in the circle and spotted Johnathan Kincaid standing almost directly across amongst several other Scottish Alphas.

Once everyone was settled the Alpha with the Welsh accent, who seemed to be the self-designated master of ceremonies, started in. “We are here to designate a Master of the Isles. I am Lloyd of Cardiff.”

The Alpha to his immediate left spoke next, “Penfold of Cornwall.”

Round the circle the introduction went with each Alpha giving his last name and pack location until it got to Shaun. “McKellan of London,” he said.

James had been thinking about how exactly to introduce himself. He knew he was the newest Alpha but given the nature of his pack it wasn’t expedient to introduce himself as Bond of the Government pack. “Bond, also of London,” was what he finally said.

There was a rustle around the circle as several people turned to look at Shaun to see how he reacted to James’ announcement. Shaun simply nodded in agreement with the statement and the movement ceased as the next Alpha in line introduced himself.

When the introductions were done Lloyd continued, “We are all present here on neutral ground. Let those who wish to compete for the post step forward.”

Shaun and the wolf David had pointed out as Johnston both stepped forward into the circle.

When it was clear that they were the only two contenders Lloyd announced, “Those of you supporting please move, neutral parties assemble near me.”

A good number of wolves came to stand behind Shaun. James simply stepped forward and took a place a step behind Shaun’s left shoulder. As he looked at the moving Alphas James noted that Kincaid was hanging back a bit. As he met the Scottish alpha’s gaze James saw him tip his head in question. Kincaid was silently asking if James personally vouched for Shaun. James nodded slightly. Kincaid responded by placing his fist over his heart.

What happened next was something that looked to James’ eye like it had been choreographed. Kincaid ambled in the direction of the unaligned Alphas. He then strolled on past, collecting a good portion of the Scottish contingent as he went, finally joining the group behind Shaun.

Johnston, James noted, looked like he’d bitten into a lemon at this turn of events. The man glanced around counting noses. It was clear that even if all the unaligned wolves joined his supporters that he only had a third of Shaun’s backers. If he wanted the position he was going to have to fight Shaun for it.

“I concede,” Johnston growled and moved over to join the unaligned wolves.

James thought it interesting that none of his supporters seemed surprised or upset. It was if this move had been planned in advance and was expected.

Lloyd continued, “Is there any who would challenge Shaun McKellan’s right to lead?”

“Yes!” came a voice from the edge of the firelight. A tall, dark haired, man dressed in black fatigues stepped forward.

James caught his scent on the breeze. This was indeed the wolf he’d spotted in the park, the mercenary wolf associated with Magnus. He clamped down on a growl.

“Does anyone have a prior claim on this challenger?” Lloyd asked.

In general, a challenging wolf could only fight a higher ranking member if there were no outstanding challenges against him. Everyone expected this question to be merely rhetorical, even Shaun, so it was a complete surprise when James heard a very familiar voice say loudly “I do!”

James kept his face impassive as Q strode into the firelight flanked by Toby and Laura. There was nothing much else he could do so James stepped out of his place and moved behind Q in support. He hoped to hell that Q knew what he was doing and had a plan.

“Your challenge is?” Lloyd inquired formally.

Q glanced slightly at the assembled Alphas then spoke. “On the night of July 14th I and a companion were attacked and left for dead because we happened to observe this person,” Q pointed at the mercenary, “exiting a certain building in Mayfair at approximately 2 in the morning. My companion perished. I, as you can see, survived.”

James could tell that Q was doing something. He could feel the drain on his stamina. The assembled Alphas were now radiating outrage and hostility at the mercenary wolf.

“I want redress for this wrong!” Q continued. “However, I am perfectly willing to let my claim be settled along with the current challenge.” Q turned to James “With your permission alpha,” he concluded formally.

It was a brilliant move. In one fell swoop Q had united the Alphas against the interloper. If, no when, Shaun defeated the mercenary wolf he would have at least marginal support of all present. There was nothing James would do to upset this plan so he merely said, “It’s all yours Shaun.”

Shaun grinned at him and said “My pleasure,” but before he could say anything else Q spoke again, softer this time and directly to James, “I’ve been reliably told that my presence will potentially hinder or otherwise taint the contest so I should remove myself to the carpark Alpha.”

“Go then,” James commanded as Q clearly expected him to. He also motioned to 004 to accompany Q thus getting the human out of the direct line of fire in case things went seriously pear shaped. Toby looked questioningly at James. James made a hand motion to indicate Toby should stand beside him.

Once Q had left the area Lloyd looked around then said “Challenge made, challenge accepted, will you all witness?”

The entire group made an assent and quickly moved to form a ring with Shaun and the mercenary at its center. James found himself standing between Toby and Kincaid. Just before the fight commenced Kincaid said softly, “I wish you luck laddie. Having an omega in your pack is going to make your life interesting!”


	28. Affirmations and Revelations

Q sat cross legged on the car’s bonnet while 004 reclined in the driver’s seat. He hoped that Bond wasn’t too mad at him. Unfortunately crashing the selection proceedings for Master of the Isles had seemed to be the only viable option when he realized that the mercenary wolf they were tracking was the very same wolf who had attacked and turned him.

It had been a bit of a challenge to get Bond to refuse to take him to the meeting but not directly order him to stay in MI6. A judicious combination of argument and grumbling that was just this side of whinging did most of the work for him. Adding the lure of newly minted tech and a modified automobile insured that James completely forgot to say _stay home_ in no uncertain terms. Of course Q could have ignored that order but the consequences, especially if other packs had found out, would not have been pretty. Once he had managed to shove 007 out the door with his toys the roundabout method Bond was using to get to the meeting location had given Q a full 24 hours to do some final intelligence gathering of his own before he needed to head out.

Q already had quite a bit of information. Several weeks prior he had finally managed to research Dr. Nielson’s background. What he found was interesting to say the least. She hailed originally from a small town in North Wales. The demographics of the place were fascinating. The core of the town was six large families who were famous for breeding large canines. Certain individuals in each family tended to have names that were well neigh interchangeable across generations. With a little more digging Q was almost certain that this particular village was predominantly werewolf. It was also rather telling that one of the families had the surname Wolfson. Dr. Neilson had spent her formative years there and Q suspected that this was where she had obtained the majority of her education on all things wolf.

Armed with this knowledge Q cornered Dr. Neilson in an unmonitored area of medical. He was a little surprised at how readily she admitted her background. He was even more surprised at her reaction once he explained his objective. She was more than willing to assist. They relocated to his private lab in Q branch and over the next few hours she gave him a crash course in werewolf succession and challenge etiquette.  
She also had a surprising amount of information regarding the position of Master of the Isles. The post was a formal title but it also had significant power to go with it. In short, the holder of the position was an Alpha to a pack of alpha wolves each of whom in turn was the leader of their own pack. Traditionally the title went to the strongest most capable alpha and was often earned after one or more dominance fights. The more Q learned the more pieces his plan began to fall into place.

In hindsight it turned out to be a very good thing that Dr. Nielson was so knowledgeable in werewolf lore. At one point toward the end of their conversation she asked him point blank where he stood on the dominance scale between Bond and Toby. Q found he couldn’t answer her question. The more she tried to explain the more confused he became. After a couple of rather pointed questions she sat back in the chair and stared at him in something like awe.

“Bloody hell Q,” she finally said, “I think you are an omega werewolf.”

“A what?” was his confused response.

“An omega wolf,” she reiterated. “The alpha wolf is a dominant, protective and aggressive beast. He holds the pack together physically, socially and for lack of a better term magically. He’s the top of the hierarchy in the pack. An omega wolf is reputedly something like a very mellow alpha,” she asserted.

Q had looked at her blankly.

“Omegas are allegedly highly protective without the aggression,” She went on to explain. “They harmonize the pack and make the wolves calmer, happier. They are outside the hierarchy and thus can do whatever needs to be done for the good of the pack…even ignoring the alpha’s direct orders. I don’t know much more,” Dr. Neilson apologized. “They are very rare and from what you describe you most likely are one.”  
If that hadn’t been enough of a shock Q found her next bit of advice was even more surprising.

“If omega wolves are even half as powerful as they are rumored to be I suggest that you get out of range of any dominance fight,” she recommended.

“Why?”

“If a fight is being held to determine the strongest most protective wolf having a dampener on the aggressive nature of the parties involved kind of defeats the purpose now doesn’t it?” was her reply.

Armed with Dr. Nielson’s information Q’s next stop had been to inform M of his plans. Luckily M did not attempt to dissuade him but merely insisted that he take a bodyguard or two. 004 and Toby fit the bill admirably with the added benefit that at least Toby would not cause an objection by the other wolves present and that Laura would likely be tolerated on the outskirts as Toby’s clearly marked mate.

Q had been surprised that the actual operation had gone relatively smoothly so far. James had been shocked at his sudden appearance but had clamped down immediately on his reaction, channeling it into the razor sharp focus of a 00 ready to act. Toby, on the other hand, had been distracting. Luckily Toby was a good enough agent not to let his overeager puppy like excitement show to the other wolves in either his face or demeanor. The only problem was that Q got the emotional overflow. Thankfully 004’s calm, cool awareness was a welcome balance to Toby’s mood. All in all he felt lucky that he’d managed to get in, say his piece to set the stage and get out without being challenged for his audacity.

Right now Q’s current concern was whether he was far enough away to negate the innate calming effect his presence had on the other wolves. He thought he was out of range since the only wolves he could feel were Toby and James and they were bound to him as pack. The emotional state of all the others was not apparent even when he strained to _hear_ them. That was good. He wouldn’t be accused of influencing the fight but he still would have some idea of what was going on based upon what he could sense from Toby and James.

Currently Toby’s mood was sober. Q suspected that he’d realized the ensuing fight would not only decide the leader of the wolves but also most likely end up with one or more of the contenders dead. James, in contrast, was concentrating intently. Q couldn’t get much of an emotional read on him since he seemed to be actively suppressing any such reaction. Q closed his eyes to better _listen_ to his pack mates.

Less than ten minutes later a sudden surge of satisfaction from James and elation from Toby told Q that the fight had concluded. Judging from the reactions, Mr. McKellan had handily defeated his challenger. Q started to unfold from his seat on the bonnet of the car when there was a flash of surprise and dismay from Toby followed by resignation from James.

“What’s up?” Laura asked.

Q hopped off the car and moved to lean on the fender next to the open driver’s side door. “The mercenary is dead but someone else has challenged Mr. McKellan.”

“Probably that Johnston character. His face when the mercenary challenged was telling. You were too focused on Bond at the time but it was clear from his face that he was expecting it. In fact, I’d bet he was one of the people who planned it.”

“You are most likely correct,” Q replied.

“So what happens if this other guy wins?” 004 asked.

“I suspect we’ll need a new 007.”

Laura’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “You really think Bond would challenge for the position?”

“Yes and he’d win,” Q said flatly. “You’ve trained with him but I don’t think you’ve ever seen him fight for his life, for something he cared about, no holds barred. I have via surveillance. I don’t think there’s anyone here that can touch him.”

“Hmm,” 004 hummed as she digested this information. “He’d sacrifice himself for…”

“Just another manifestation of duty to Queen and Country,” Q interrupted, “but he’s not going to need to.” Q had just caught another surge of satisfaction from both James and Toby.

Laura looked at him quizzically, “Eventually you are going to have to explain just how you know that without any tech on you Quartermaster.”

Q grinned at her, “Wolf stuff!”

004 didn’t reply. Instead she got out of the car, drew her gun and positioned herself in front of Q. Moments later Toby trotted up.

“They want you back,” he informed Q then turned to Laura. “You’re stuck with the car love. It’s…”

“I know, I know, wolf stuff,” she said resignedly.

“I’ll be there shortly,” Toby continued. “I was tasked with doing a quick perimeter sweep to determine if there anyone else hanging about on the outskirts.”

“I’ll walk him in just close enough so they can sense me and then back out,” 004 stated.

“Sounds good,” Toby replied. “See you in a bit Q.”

004 did as she said, walking with Q until the fire was just visible then leaving him to walk on alone. There were several distinct groups of people the largest one collected around the distinct form of Shaun McKellan. Q didn’t see any bodies so he assumed they had been moved out of sight. He spotted James talking to a small group of people so he meandered in that direction only to be headed off by a square jawed gentleman who was missing two fingers on his right hand.

“I’m David, Shaun’s second for the next 10 minutes or so,” the man introduced himself. “You must be James’ Quentin.”

“Yes,” Q acknowledged.

“James asked if I’d intercept you. He’s going to be stuck for a bit with the Scottish contingent.”  
“Oh.”

James looked up then and nodded slightly to Q inclining his head toward David. Q interpreted this easily. David was indeed executing James’ instructions.

“So what happens in 10 minutes?” Q asked.

“We finish up the last of the ritual to make Shaun Master of the Isles and I end up as Alpha of the Greater London Pack by default.”

“You sound thrilled.” Q made sure the sarcasm was clear.

“Being an alpha is not all that it’s made out to be. Sure you’ve got the authority but you’ve also got the responsibility to make the right decisions to keep the pack safe.” David looked at Q in shock, “Why the hell am I telling you this? I don’t even know you!”

Q had to smile at that. Apparently his inherent calm down the wolf ability also encouraged them to talk about what was bothering them.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m told it’s just part of who I am,” he said reassuringly.

David gave him a strange look at that but before he could say anything something caught his attention. “Well things should get moving any time now,” he murmured.

Q followed his gaze just in time to see Toby join a group of three wolves one of whom was the Welsh alpha who had been acting as master of ceremonies. Just watching the body language it was clear to Q that Toby was giving a report on his circuit of the perimeter. The other two wolves moved off and Toby continued to talk to Welsh wolf. Together the two moved off into the shadows still talking.  
“Any ideas what that’s about?” David asked Q.

“Looks like Toby found something in his perimeter sweep though why he’s not reporting to James is interesting.”

“I suspect that he was asked to report the results to Lloyd after he’d done the sweep so that’s not it.”

Q spotted Lloyd reentering the firelight. “It was rather close in whatever it was,” he commented.

Toby exited the shadows right behind him carrying a cardboard box. Lloyd stopped and gestured. Toby put down the box at his feet then started over toward Q and David.

“So,” Q decided to use the time it would take Toby to reach them to obtain some additional information, “is there anything specific I need to know about this ritual? I assume that the reason why I’m here is that everyone present needs to participate.”

David nodded, “Everyone within earshot is supposed to participate. It’s rather simple. You’ll see the format.”

Just as Toby reached them Lloyd said loudly, “Form a circle everyone.”

People moved. As far as Q could see most tended to stay in the groups they had been in. There were a few exceptions, James among them. He crossed the center of the circle to stand between Q and Toby.

Shaun went and stood at Lloyd’s left. Lloyd was holding something he’d removed from the box. It was hard to tell from where Q was standing but it looked like he had a knife and a small bowl in his hand. No, Q saw as Lloyd handed it to Shaun, it was a large goblet.

Lloyd bent and reached into the box again pulling out a clear glass jug of about pint size. He popped the cork and pored some of the contents into the goblet that Shaun was holding.

“Oh lovely,” David muttered. “We are being traditional.”

Q made a questioning noise hoping for clarification however it was James who explained by softly asking, “That’s mead isn’t it?”

David grunted in assent as the circle went silent as Lloyd took the cup back from Shaun.

“We are here to acknowledge the ascension of the Master of the Isles,” Lloyd’s voice carried across the circle. “By designation and combat Shaun McKellan has earned the right to lead us, alpha to the alphas, first of all the packs. We will bind ourselves to him and he to us by word and blood.”

Lloyd then moved around Shaun to stand beside the alpha immediately to his right. He handed him the cup then used the knife to cut across his palm. He held his wounded hand above the cup.  
“Three drops only,” David whispered to Q.

“By this blood and my oath I acknowledge Shaun McKllan as Master of the Isles,” Lloyd intoned.

The alpha who was holding the cup then turned to the next wolf. He handed the cup over then held out his hand to Lloyd for the knife. He repeated the action and passed it on to the next in line.  
On around the circle the cup and knife went until finally David handed the cup to Q. Q almost dropped it in surprise. Despite its looks the goblet was familiar, very familiar. He put his hand up to the bowl as if to steady it and surreptitiously felt for the engravings that he couldn’t see. They were there alright. He wondered as David slashed his palm what, if any, effect would result from using a powerful magical artifact in what essentially was a coronation ritual.

Q managed to do his part without flaw despite the almost overwhelming urge he had to use Welsh instead of English. He passed the knife on when James put his hand out catching a quick glance of Toby’s face as he held the cup. The expression was somewhat like a cat sitting in a pile of canary feathers attempting to look innocent; not that anyone who didn’t know the agent would recognize it as such.  
It was only a few more minutes when the cup returned to Lloyd who handed it formally to Shaun who held it up to the moon which was peeking through the light cloud cover.

“By blood and oath you are mine and I am yours,” Shaun said firmly, “to lead, protect and serve in faith and truth. I am yours and you are mine to live and die together against all manner of folks.”  
With that statement Shaun saluted the moon with the cup then drained it to the dregs. At that exact moment Q heard a single pure chime like tone. It echoed seemingly getting louder instead of softer as time passed. All the wolves in the circle were frozen by the sound with the exception of Q and Shaun. Shaun was looking at the cup in something akin to awe while Q was still realizing that he was the only other person who could move. There was a tension in the air and the faint smell of ozone that Q had come to associate with magic as the tone continued to crescendo to a point that his very bones seemed to vibrate.  
Shaun looked up from the cup and noticed that Q was looking around. He cocked his head at Q and mouthed “What?” It was clear he was hearing the tone too.

Just before the tone became painful it suddenly stopped. The whole world seemed to stop with it. Q felt something touch him emotionally. It was a sense of belonging and attachment along with a bit of comfort. Q had a mental image of being small, wrapped in a blanket and snuggling with his brothers in front of the hearth. He blinked and saw a whole set of lines between the assembled wolves as well as many fainter lines that went off in all directions. There were gold colored lines linking James, Toby and himself with some fainter goldish colored lines heading off in the direction of London. Shaun was covered in a nest of white lines so thick his form was partially obscured. Q tried to look closely at another wolf, David who happened to be closest, but he blinked again and the lines were gone. Less than a heartbeat later the world suddenly lurched back to normal. He glanced back at Shaun who seemed completely stunned and was clutching the cup as if it were an anchor. The paralysis that had held the other wolves seemed to be gone because someone started a cheer which quickly morphed into a howl.

Once the howl tapered off it seemed that the ceremony was complete. People started congregating in groups. A set of wolves converged on Shaun offering what looked like congratulations. James saluted Shaun from a distance, apparently not willing to brave the mob of congratulating wolves, then turned and looked at both Q and Toby. It was clear his intent was to leave the ceremonial site relatively quickly. At roughly the same time Lloyd managed to pry the cup from Shaun’s fingers. He used a cloth that he was holding to clean both the cup and the knife. Lloyd reverently placed them both back in the box, closed it then picked it up. Looking around Lloyd caught James’ gaze and jerked his chin slightly at Toby. Toby took a step then looked at James, presumably for permission to assist with whatever Lloyd wanted. James nodded and Toby headed over to collect the box presumably to take it wherever Lloyd indicated it needed to be. Q noted in passing that Toby still had that not quite so innocent expression on his face but now it seemed less cat like and more vulpine in nature. For some strange reason it reminded Q of a fox that had managed to raid the hen house without either the farmer or the other chickens noticing. He made a mental note; that was something he was going to need to investigate further but not right now. No now he needed to follow his alpha as James started to walk away from the gathering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here we are, almost to the end with just an epilogue to go. I hope to get that up rather quickly.


	29. Reflections (An Epilogue in Four Parts)

John plopped down with a sigh in his chair in the Baker Street flat and marveled at the vagaries of his chosen profession. Normally a locum shift at a clinic was boring sniffles, flu and vaccinations with the occasional chronic condition for a bit of variety. Likewise a shift at the A&E provided an interesting variety of medical issues ranging from the simple paper cut to blunt force trauma. Then there were days like today where the morning shift in the A&E yielded an unending stream of colds, flu and their attendant complications with not even a broken bone to lift the monotony. Unfortunately the stream of patients had been so steady that he hadn’t even had time to reflect on what he was going to say on his blog about recent events.

He picked up his laptop from the coffee table, logged on, and then paused to think. Just what could he say about the most recent case? Sherlock has a younger brother who happens to be a werewolf and head of the tech division of MI6? Nope that’s classified. Meeting a former patient of mine and his co-worker from Afghanistan? Boring without mentioning that both were 00 agents and one was a werewolf. Mentioning werewolves at all? Not a good idea even if he delayed until after the _great reveal_ to society at large. Finding out that his father was the part-fae offspring of one of the Grey Lords? That would put a target on his back from the racial purity factions of both the Fae and human communities. That left what? Writing about the unsolved Peterson murder, the death of the Brighter Futures double agent who’d been stealing stolen gems, and the drug lab raid? None of those would make any sense without the werewolf and Fae components. Well he could write a bit about Sherlock getting drugged but that would end up revealing…

John smiled to himself. Just because he asserted frequently that he wasn’t gay didn’t mean that he was firmly pegged at the other end of the Kinsey scale; as he had told several of his patients there was a lot of territory to cover between a 1 and a 6. Even if he did write that slice-of-life bit a good portion of the readers wouldn’t believe it. He almost didn’t believe it. It was completely incredible. He, plain, slightly shop-worn John Watson, was actually in a physical relationship with Sherlock Holmes, posh clothes horse and one of the most stunning looking men in London. No, he couldn’t break that bit of news without Sherlock’s permission. Although he really should see if he could tell Greg Lestrade since Greg had custody of the NSY betting pool and he’d need to disburse the winnings.

No the best way to go about writing up the events of the last few months would be a simple note that they’d had a complex case that had kept them busy and which was now classified under the official secrets act. It only took a moment and the blog was updated leaving John to wonder just where his flat mate and lover had popped off to.

As if the very thought had conjured him, Sherlock pounded up the stairs and in the door. “John! You are home. Good. Lestrade has a case that has a high potential to be a solid eight. You want to come?”

John put the laptop down on the coffee table and headed for his jacket asking, “So what makes you think this might be an eight?”

“Body parts in a bin. Lestrade has already found two left big toes!” Sherlock was grinning wildly as he whirled and clattered back down the stairs.

John shrugged into his jacket and couldn’t resist, “I guess that really means the game is afoot then,” he deadpanned.

00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q

James Bond looked at the paper on which Shaun had written the telephone number. Not that he needed it to remember the number itself. That he had memorized from the movements of Shaun’s hand as he wrote it down. No he was staring at the paper for what it represented; a direct line contact with the Marrock, the leader of the North American werewolves.

He hadn’t told Shaun the entire truth about why he wanted the Marrock’s advice. He’d just said that since it had become obvious that Quentin, Q’s go to alias for wolf contacts, was a strong omega wolf that he needed the input of the oldest wolf he knew about to help him determine truth from legend. Shaun had laughed, provided the number and wished James luck with getting a straight answer from the Marrock. He opined that James might have better luck attempting to locate Asil the Moor, who was reputedly just as old if not older but had not been heard of or seen for some years. James had simply kept to himself the fact that he preferred the Marrock because not only had he met the man in person but also that the Marrock happened to have an omega wolf in his pack. If anyone had advice about dealing with an omega and helping one control his powers then it would be the Marrock.

The other issue that James needed to broach with the Marrock was going to be a bit trickier. The Marrock was Welsh in ancestry and had allegedly been turned sometime before the Roman occupation of Britain. That was a time when magic was much more common and the Fae were still actively interfering in mortal’s lives. More importantly however it was the last time the cup referred to in legend as the Holy Grail had been actively used.

James hoped that the Marrock could help him figure out the effect of the cup on the binding ritual for Master of the Isles. There was already one consequence that James knew. The ties between the pack alphas and Shaun were already much stronger and tighter than the ones Arthur Madden had forged with his underlings. In fact, the bonds were so strong that James suspected Shaun could magically reach any wolf in the country by working through the bond between the wolf and its pack leader. Even if the Marrock didn’t have a clue about the potential ramifications James was sure he could at least suggest some avenues to research and questions to ask.

James looked back down at the paper again. It wasn’t going to get any easier the more he stalled he thought. Sighing James pulled out his secure mobile and started dialing.

00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q

Q reverently placed the simple pewter goblet into the velvet lined, padded iron banded box on his work bench as Toby and Laura looked on. They were standing in his private lab with the protocols engaged so that they could talk freely.

“What on earth Toby,” Q asked quasi-rhetorically, “made you think it was a good idea to substitute a highly magical artifact for a simple cup in what clearly was a binding ritual?”

“Ummm, it felt right?” Toby replied. “It was like the cup wanted to be there, sort of.”

“Really,” Q’s tone was sarcastic.

“Well,” Toby’s voice was hesitant, “you could just use my Grandmother’s explanation.”

“Oh?”

“When I pulled something like this she always said it was my latent Kitsune genes.”

Q stared at him, “Kit what?”

“Kitsune,” 004 chimed in, “It’s the Japanese word for fox and usually refers to a shapeshifting demon who appears as a multi-tailed fox.”

“And you know this how?”

Laura smiled, “I read way too much manga as a teenager. It was how I learned to read Japanese.”

“So how,” Q had refocused on Toby, “did you end up with Kitsune genes?”

“Kitsune are not really demons. They are actually a shape shifting type of Fae but they got called _demons_ because the ancient Japanese didn’t have words for magical beings so everything got labeled demon. They take several forms, one of them is always human like and the other is a type of fox. Certain types have a reputation for dallying,” Toby paused looking embarrassed, “with humans occasionally resulting in offspring.”

Q’s eyebrows went up.

Toby started blushing, “Ummm, allegedly my Great-great-grandfather was one.”

004 started chuckling, “Let me guess; seven or nine.”

“Seven.”

“What?” Q was completely lost.

“Tails,” Laura explained. “The number of tails seems to have something to do with the personality and temperament of the Kitsune as well as their age and power. Seven tails are supposed to be tricksters and interact most with humans. Nine are ancient nobility and allegedly able to hear anything said in an entire country. If the Kitsune themselves had anything to do with shaping the legends I suspect that their powers might be somewhat overstated.”

“I just thought it was an excuse she used,” Toby admitted, “but after all the stuff I’ve seen working here and,” he gestured at himself, “I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Yes, becoming a mythological creature broadens your definition of what’s possible doesn’t it,” Q said dryly but with a slight smile.

Laura chuckled at that then tipped her head at the cup in the box, “So what are we doing with it?”

“It seems that MI6, specifically the Quartermaster, has become the de facto guardian of the Holy Grail.”

Toby snorted, “One of those _other duties as assigned_ part of your job description eh?”

Q rolled his eyes.

“But how the heck are we going to keep it safe and protected?” 004 asked.

“Well, the box is lead lined as well as iron bound which should keep the magical aura from leaking through and otherwise I was thinking of pulling a _Raiders of the Lost Arc_ number with it.”

Laura looked confused but Toby laughed outright.

“I’m going to stash it in the Q-branch failed prototype storage area. That place is a disorganized mess. I suspect it will remain hidden there until it’s needed again when it will influence someone to find it.”

That made Toby laugh harder. “I can see it. Hundreds of years from now the Quest for the Grail is not so much slaying dragons but more akin to cleaning out the junk drawer!”

“I guess,” 004 replied “But it could be just as hazardous as a dragon since the junk in this particular _drawer_ has the potential to blow up in your face if you are not careful.”

“Oi,” Q objected as he carefully closed the box lid, “don’t slander the failed prototype vault. Some of your best equipment has resulted from repurposing the work stored in there!”

Laura put up her hands in surrender, “OK, OK, I concede your point.” She then looked at Toby. “We need to get out of here. You have an assessment with the training staff and I’m supposed to go annoy the shrinks.”

Q reached over and disabled the secure protocols. “Off you go then,” he said as the two turned and left the room. Once they were out of sight Q carefully picked up the box and took it to the archive room where the plans and samples of outdated weaponry and gadgets were stored. He placed the box high on a shelf and quickly left.

00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q

Mycroft Holmes closed the file and sat back in his chair. If he had the Marrock’s measure correctly the incident involving the rescue of the missionary’s children would make an ideal coming out opportunity. The picture of Mr. Christianson with the little boy would be picked up by the media world-wide. With the right spin and coverage the image of the valiant mercenary team, the leader of which just happened to be furry once a month, would be cemented in the public consciousness. Of course someone who had such concern and care for those children could not be a horrible monster especially since the children idolized him and were clearly comfortable in his presence.

Mycroft wondered if Mr. Cornick had received detailed information about this particular escapade yet. He doubted it given that the events were less than 18 hours old. He didn’t think that the Marrock’s intelligence network was that good. No, if he knew anything at this point it would be the generalities but not the specifics and it was the specifics of this particular situation that would make this such a good public relations event. Now how to get such information to him quickly enough? Diplomatic pouch to San Francisco followed by Federal Express would be too slow especially since the Marrock was physically located in the wilds of Montana. Encrypted files via e-mail would be optimum; PGP protocol would work. It would also give Mycroft an iron clad excuse to ring the man up to pass the encryption key. Not only did he need to discuss the particulars of the upcoming campaign he also really needed to understand the full ramifications of being blood related to a werewolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that is the end. I took a look at the word count and realized that I’ve written a f***ing novel! I didn’t think I had a novel length piece of writing in me. It’s been a real experience writing this over the last year and a half. My utmost thanks to my Alpha reader Guy and my Beta Erif_of_Taloma (Kneoria on FF.net) who put up with the rough scribblings of a somewhat deranged mind. Also thanks to all those who left kudos and comments. They keep my muse fed and happy. I think this one will stand alone for now but if a plot bunny comes along demanding to be written in the verse I will consider writing it. 
> 
> As always I’ll close with apologies to the Bard:
> 
>  
> 
> _If this writer has offended,_  
>  _Think but this and all is mended,_  
>  _That you have but tarried here,_  
>  _While each chapter did appear,_  
>  _And these words upon this theme,_  
>  _Are of no import, only my dream._
> 
>  
> 
> It has been an honor to share my dream with you
> 
> K2N2


End file.
